


Vetus Avis

by Castalle



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalle/pseuds/Castalle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU past chapter Eight.  With Archades utterly decimated by the Dawn Shard, Rozarria takes advantage of the tragedy, plunging all of Ivalice into war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks to my beta reader, Karen

Halim couldn't help but think that this Judge Ghis must have been as unhappy to be at the Marquis' estate as Halim himself was to have him. Gatherings such as these were a painful necessity, both men had been playing this game long enough to know that. Still, he was intrigued as to what could possibly be causing an old socialite to avoid the crowd. Halim made his way across the crowded room to the long-suffering Archadian who had been nursing the same glass of wine for over an hour.

“If our madhu isn't to your taste, Your Honor, I can have something more suitable to your palette brought out.” 

The Judge's mood seemed to degenerate even further upon realizing the Marquis was addressing him directly. He set the glass down on a nearby table, the gloved hand moving to an embellished handkerchief stuffed halfway under the sash around his waist.

“Your wine is pedestrian. The altitude here is what I find taxing.”

Halim found forcing a smile on this occasion to be much harder than he expected.

“I'm curious, Judge Ghis – are you not the commander of an entire fleet of Airships?” He earned a look of utter contempt for shallow coy tone that couldn't mask a hint of impudence.

“Even the Archadian fleet needn't ascend to this ridiculous height.” the Judge scoffed, wiping the sweat from his brow

“Then please, retire for the night, Your Honor. I will send for servants to assist with y-”

“Do you think me some green whelp, fresh out of the den, tail between my legs?”

The sudden interruption surprised the Marquis but he was usually fast enough to respond in kind – however it was the Judge's level of condescension that gave him pause. He rested his cane firmly on the ground, folding both hands on top. Ghis never stopped staring, gray eyes peering at him along with a grin that gave the Marquis a sudden urge to strike it right off his face. Halim cleared his throat and ordered the tension out of his shoulders. 

“I've obviously offended you somehow, Judge Ghis. For that I apologize.”

“Neutral though you may be, Archadia still has an interest in Bhujerba's exports. Do not attempt to spoon feed me your niceties in some foolhardy attempt to sugar my tea. Your...” Ghis paused, eyes darting to the side in a split second of thought before fixing back on the Marquis. “...madhu is quite saccharine already.”

The two shared an uncomfortable smile, and Ghis folded his handkerchief neatly before sticking it back under the sash once more.

“Still – the air is thin and the heat intolerable. I'm eager for my eventual return to the Leviathan, as no doubt you are as well.” 

The Marquis and Judge shared a look that spoke of honest, mutual disdain. It was a relief for Halim; neither of them had the time or patience to pretend. That game was for the socialite with no foundation to back a genuine display of dislike. In that instance Halim knew that if nothing else when dealing with this Archadian, he wouldn't have to worry about lies. A rare thing indeed.

Ghis fanned himself, breaking eye contact as he began to move towards the door. The Marquis followed beside him, moving through the mixed crowd of the wealthy, upper-class, and military. They seemed to step aside for Ghis faster than they would have for him; the Marquis had no doubt it was out of desire not to be poked by the Judge's sharp pauldrons. The smooth slope of the decorative feathers couldn't mask their sharp ends.

Once at the door, a standing guard opened it and stepped aside for the two men, the Judge exiting first and looking down the hallway at the set of stairs that awaited him. The Marquis observed the glare the Judge reserved just for the flights that he had to climb to reach his room in the estate. 

“Have attendants waiting in my room.” the Judge ordered, waiting for the dull roar of the crowd to vanish as the door behind them was shut. Once completely cut off from the noise of the crowd, he let out a sigh that the Marquis felt had been hanging in his lungs since he had arrived. 

“I expect them to keep my armor tidy and have it waiting upon sunrise.” the Judge said as he began to walk towards the waiting stairs. 

“It will be in fine condition, your honor, you have my assurance. Of course, if anything were to happen, I would have my smiths on it posthaste.” 

Ghis glanced at him, the sour smirk returning to his face. “I would sooner return to Archades in my housecoat. If the armor is damaged you will receive an invoice in three weeks time that I expect to be paid.” He paused, bringing a hand up to his forehead to wipe away more sweat. “The cost of repair wouldn't hurt your profits, I assume? I do hope the magicite export is healthy.”

The Marquis narrowed his eyes, stopping at the foot of the stairs. Ghis took two steps up before realizing he wasn't being accompanied and stopped, turning to look down at the other. The Marquis forced the annoyance to pass and was quick to brush the Judge's comments aside.

“As Archades is aware of, no doubt.”

Ghis' eyebrow perked, and he tapped his fingers along the helmet he held under his arm.

“No doubt.” 

The Judge turned, and began a slow ascent up the steps, armor clapping together rhythmically. Halim took the time to watch him reach the top of the first flight, a journey that took nearly three minutes with the slow pace of the armored man. The servants wouldn't reach his room in time, not now with the Marquis' slacking – but Judge Ghis would know that Bhujerban laziness wasn't to blame.


	2. Chapter 2

Halim couldn't stop the wince as he watched the Judge land squarely on his knee, the full weight of both man and armor coming down on that small square of flesh and bone. The Bhujerban pavement was not forgiving of accidents. 

Ghis didn't make a sound, instead he stood up swiftly and with as much dignity as he could muster. The Judge looked about and turned, secretly hoping no other eyes had been on him during his embarrassing tumble. Once reassured it had only been the Marquis, he snatched his cape which had gotten tangled around his ankles during a strong breeze.

“Would you retire? And take the rest of the day for your leg?” The Marquis asked, resting both hands on his cane. Ghis chuckled, barely audible, but the small rise and fall of his shoulders gave it away.

“You think me that old?” he asked as he fixed his helmet back on straight. 

Halim cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the ground, drawing the Judge's attention to it. The Judge scoffed, crossing his arms behind his back and continued to walk.

“Your empathy is moving, Marquis, but I assure you – Doctor Cid is easier to digest in the presence of those who know him. I will stay until he has had a tour of the mines.”

The Marquis glanced at the Judge as they began their walk away from the Estate, down towards the Aerodrome. Ghis' retinue was ahead of them, the four Archadian soldiers walking in a square formation. The clanking of their armor echoing through the narrow streets gave any pedestrians enough warning to move out of the way. 

“Your Honor would privilege me of course with the reason this Doctor is visiting the mines? I needn't remind you of Bhujerba's stance on such matters,” he said, cocking an eyebrow as he turned his head to watch the Judge's reaction – or lack thereof.

Ghis was quiet, walking along at his slow pace as they crossed the bridge that lead to the Aerodrome. He gave no indication of any laughter nor sudden anger at the Marquis' statement, rather just indifference. That alone sent a shiver of worry down Halim's spine. Indeed his lack of reaction, of any care at all to the Marquis' reminder, was in itself a statement.

“Ah! Ghis!” The voice drew Halim's attention and he turned to face the opening doors of the Aerodrome, an older man walking out with a bounce in his step. The Marquis fought an urge to move out of the newcomer's way lest he be plowed over. 

“Doctor Cidolfus Bunansa, it is my honor to introduce to you, Halim Ondore IV, the Marquis of Bhujerba.” Ghis announced, stepping to the side and doing a small bow in the Marquis' direction. The Doctor seemed barely if at all interested in Halim, shaking his hand a little too quickly and giving no effort to even look at him. The Marquis couldn't help but mirror him – thoughts lingering on how bizarre it had sounded to hear the Judge say his name. 

“So then let's see it – let us see this wondrous mine!” Dr. Cid exclaimed, already several steps ahead of the procession. Ghis made a small motion with his hand, and the four soldiers rushed ahead to catch up with the wandering Doctor. 

“I see what you mean.” Halim said as he watched the Doctor fade further into the narrow Bhujerban streets. “Pray those four guards are enough to restrain his eccentricities?”

That earned a bark of laughter from Ghis, the sound raw and dry, made rough through his helmet. “We can only hope,” he responded, beginning to follow the path that the Doctor had wandered off on. “The Guards will see to it that he does not enter the Mines unattended. Archadian blood spilled on your soil would do neither of us good.”

“Agreed,” Halim said firmly, the strength backing his voice giving the Judge an indication on where he stood – or so he hoped. Ghis didn't bite, and the Marquis threw another line. “What is his interest in our nethicite, if you don't mind my asking?”

“He's become infatuated with it these last years, with a fervor I've never seen in any of Draklor's finest minds. Inconvenient though his enthusiasm may be, Archadia's airship fleet grows legion more and more. Soon we will be flying over the jagd.” 

The Marquis had been playing the game long enough to know when it would suit him to be honest, and not feign satisfaction.

“Forgive my bluntness, Your Honor, but I would know if these advancements have any future in being pressed against the Bhujerban fleet. Our nethicite is no doubt valuable to Archades, but I have no future plans for an alliance. Nor will any of my successors should I have a sudden onset of death.”

Ghis laughed again, but it wasn't as loud, and had a flicker of genuine humor to it. He clasped his hands behind his back as he walked, the two moving together along the cobblestones that led them past the joined buildings and homes. Residents were quick to offer polite nods or bows to the Marquis, and moved aside to allow them a wide berth.

“Dealing with politicians is always a pleasant bore that helps cleanse out the taste of constant action in Archades.” Ghis said, slowing when Halim suddenly stopped without warning.

“I meant no offense...” The Judge said, his tone testing the waters. Halim chuckled at the tiniest sliver of genuine worry that sneaked its way through Ghis' exterior, though the Marquis' small laugh was strained.

“My leg,” he muttered, leaning heavily on his cane. Ghis' shoulders perked back up now that he was in the clear. Halim spoke again and his voice was broken in pain. “A moment is all I require. If you wish to go on ahead-”

Ghis shook his head, blunt horns bouncing back and forth in the air. He waited, crossing his arms to his front now. The Marquis took a little more than a minute to endure the sudden flare, and then began along again. Ghis' footfalls were the only sound now, the streets empty from the corner they had stopped at until the designated area. Halim chose not to comment when he realized Ghis had slowed his pace, even if the pity of one such as him was near intolerable.

“Ah – there is our lost Doctor.” The Judge said, pointing to Cid who paced back and forth impatiently, and the four guards waiting eagerly to return to their previous station. When Ghis came into view they turned their armored heads simultaneously, standing at attention. He nodded at them upon approach, and the good Doctor was quick to join his side.

“Marquis Ondore will be leading this tour, Doctor,” Ghis said as he slowly began down a flight of stairs. “I am merely part of the escort.”

“Well then we haven't a moment to lose. Come – come then!” The Doctor had passed Ghis and was headed further into the mine, the Imperial soldiers briskly keeping pace with him. 

The two passed the threshold at the edge of the Mines, and Ghis paused, raising his head like a dog that had suddenly caught a scent. Halim watched him, staring in silent inquiry.

“A Paling,” the Judge muttered. The Marquis cast a small, inward sigh. He had hoped Ghis' title and station be entirely built on social ties and a strong family name. Halim knew it was not uncommon for Judges to be promoted to their rank because of association alone. Enough was known about Archadia by the Marquis that he knew to be wary, the lines between politics, class, and military intermingled and the system marched steadily onward with no signs of change. The light, decorative armor could have been passed off as evidence of his suspicions, but a trained sense for magicks contradicted that hypothesis. That made any hope he had of scaring the Judge off with the presence of the beasts within the Mines pointless.

“The Nethicite draws all sorts of abhorrent creatures to these mines, we mustn't be too cautious,” Halim spoke as he began to walk ahead of the Judge. Ghis laughed darkly and was close behind.


	3. Chapter 3

“A moment.”

“Of course, your Honor.”

The Marquis stepped aside, letting Ghis pass in front of him to walk into a narrow alley, free from the brutal sun for a moment's rest. Halim couldn't help but smile to himself. He had insisted that the Magister come to Bhujerba early, before the rains, to discuss the 'arrangement' that Lord Vayne was bringing to the table. He could easily guess what it was, after Doctor Cid's overwhelming enthusiasm. All the more reason to loosen his inhibitions and put the middleman through as much torment as he could.

If the Judge hadn't been so smug about the whole ordeal, Halim would've felt some twinge of sympathy as the heavily armed man pulled his helmet off and gasped the fresh air in. That was not the case, and Halim found himself enjoying the moment. Ghis hid in the heavy shadows of the alleyway, not entirely necessary since no sane Bhujerban was on the streets during this time of day. The month that sat just before the rains began in Giza was the hottest of the year, not to say that it was the same in Archades. Halim had never visited the Imperial city, but he could surmise easily enough that the temperatures never reached what they did in Bhujerba. 

Even from his spot in the well lit street, Halim could see the heavy layer of sweat along Ghis' jaw and forehead. The wavy, coarse hair he'd seen at the social gathering three months prior had lost it's natural spring; worst of all the intimidating cowlick that sprang from his forehead was wet and plastered against his face. The Judge leaned back against the nearest building wall, chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to catch his breath. He looked absolutely miserable, in utter agony, the Marquis thought. Good.

He continued to stare, taking the smallest of delights in watching the suffering of the Archadian middleman. Ghis had taken to fanning himself off with tined fan that he had brought along with him in addition to the theatrical sword that rested on his waist. Halim had to wonder if those weapons were just for show and – apparently - ventilation purposes. Ghis had insisted that if they were to meet in private without any guard or escort that he at least be permitted to have a means to defend himself.

The blades of the pronged fan moved back and forth, back and forth – clearing Ghis' cheekbones by only centimeters. Halim watched with an unsolicited, if growing, apprehension to see if a cut or two to the face was waiting – but none came. Ghis allowed himself a few more moments of panting, sucking air through clenched teeth and closing his eyes as he attempted to harden his resolve for the remaining trip up to the Marquis' estate. The mansion that lay beyond the boundary wall was a few more twists and turns and a long trudge up yet another stone flight of stairs. 

Halim caught himself still staring luckily before the Judge did, and turned away sharply, ordering his eyes elsewhere. He'd give Ghis the gift of his dignity, pretending not to hear the strained breaths as he righted himself and pulled his helmet back on. Only the loudest of gasps would be audible through the metal, and the Judge's trained social restraint would have none of that. The clicks of his boots approached Halim and he turned, looking at Ghis with feigned concern.

“Does your Honor wish a small respite? There is still some time before formalities need be upheld for your arrival.”

Ghis shook his head, his tone giving no indication of distress. “No – although I appreciate your generous offer, Marquis. A compassion one would not normally find for a man of your station.” The drop of his voice told Halim enough to drop his niceties. 

“Then accompany me without anymore extended delay,” The Marquis ordered, eyes turning hard. If the Judge needed reminding of his lesser standing then so be it. The Archadian had grown too comfortable within Bhujerba's walls; the Marquis turned his nose up at the thought of Ghis beginning to enjoy his visits. Halim turned without pause and began to walk, Ghis following but a foot behind to his left. Still, it was enough of an indicator that the Judge had been reminded of his place. 

Neither spoke for the remainder of the walk, at last reaching the estate wall some time later and passing through. What awaited them was the last hill the men had to conquer: the steps that led to the entrance of the mansion. Halim urged himself to move at a brisker pace than the Judge, who vocalized no annoyance or frustration at the latest obstacle in his path. A breath of pain beginning to form in Halim's leg reminded him of the consequence he faced at such a show, but he would endure even that pain to offer just a few moment's more humiliation to the unwelcome visitor. Ghis' posture weakened as he tried and failed to keep up, starting to lag behind. 

Halim leaned heavily on his cane once he reached the top, the two guards opening the large doors for them both. He hid the flare of pain well with help from the assurance it would fade soon. Turning, he saw Ghis was more than three quarters along the way, but his shoulders were slumped and head bowed. The thrill of a petty victory faded fast, genuine worry starting to force it's way out from hiding. If the heat did send the Judge collapsing, the political consequences would not be dire, but they would be ugly; an Archadian Judge Magister taking sudden injury on Bhujerban ground an in the safe walls of the Marquis' estate no less. It was a critical eye that Halim could not afford to have cast upon him, not with the beginnings of the counter-Imperial forces fostering in the shadows. Even the slightest of suspicions could tumble down like an avalanche and spell disaster. 

“Your Honor-”

Ghis' hand was up, palm facing Halim, gesturing to be silent. The Marquis would tolerate such an act only for the Judge's sake. Ghis forced himself up the rest of the steps. When he finally reached Halim's side, his shoulders rose and fell in long, controlled breaths. 

“How long until the dinner reception?” The Judge asked after a few moments of catching his breath. Halim shrugged, glancing up at the oppressive sun that hung overhead.

“Several hours I would surmise. The walk from the Aerodrome took but an hour.” He paused, but he couldn't help himself. “Normally much shorter a time, of course.”

“Permit me a recess, to prepare myself for the reception and dinner to follow.”

Halim offered him a withering smile, lowering his head in acquiescence. “I look forward to your presence tonight, your Honor. Do freshen up.”

The Judge turned and walked, shoulders lowered, whether he was aware of it or not. He headed further into the mansion, towards the room he had been granted. Halim watched him go, a faint air of amusement about the whole thing clear on his face. Worry faded away – the only thing wounded in the entire affair was Ghis' ego. That would recover well enough as soon as he was back in Archades.

 

~

 

Dinners such as these were nothing more than any nobleman's obligation and the Marquis grew tired of them years ago. Still, the visit of a Judge Magister required some sort of formal event, and the uppermost of Bhujerba's class wouldn't miss the chance to boast about being in the presence of a high ranking Archadian and further gossip for months to come.

Obligation was obligation, and he had to at least appear to care about the Magister's arrival. Since Ghis could see through the thin veneer of his acting, perhaps action was required to convince him of his consent to the Lord Vayne's impending request. 

Several of Bhujerba's most esteemed nobility sat at the long dinner table. The Marquis had made sure not to invite anyone with military power, lest they and the Judge Magister come to some sort of disagreement midst conversation. The guests spoke and ate quietly, a servant grabbing a large bottle of madhu and bringing it around to pour for an eager Moogle. 

Halim slid his eyes to stare at the empty chair to his direct right, which the Judge should have been seated in five minutes ago, prior to the other guests arriving. Something must have been wrong: the Magister would have never allowed himself to be late for a social event. Even one as small as this.

A guard entered carefully, avoiding the attention of the dinner guests who had begun to tuck into their first course without a second thought. He circled the table, giving it a wide berth before honing in on Halim's side. He didn't bother to move his head or turn away from his dinner as the guard whispered into his ear. With the guard's departure, the Marquis drew the guest's attention with a clearing of his throat. 

“It seems the Bhujerban summer is too strong for our Archadian guest – he has chosen to retire for the night. A toast then, to our constitutions,” he said and raised his glass of wine. The guests laughed, the soft cacophony bouncing along the walls of the dining hall, and raised their glasses to meet his.

 

~

 

Halim walked down the dark hallway with the bottle of Archadian wine that had been brought to him. He looked down at it, checking the year and seal. He doubted the Judge would give it any mind, or even drink it, but it was a gesture that was expected. No guards were present– all on their rounds or changing shifts along the outer walls. When the Judge had brought his formal cortege they were always roomed beside him, and would be hovering near his door. Without them now it was an empty hall, the large doors to the one of several guest rooms being the highest in this wing. 

A sudden though struck him as he looked down at the carpet of the guest wing, an unbidden memory returning. The small Princess Ashe, hollering as she stumbled and fell, recovering with the quick ungainliness only a toddler could muster. She would run about the halls, eyes wide and laughter loud until setting her sights on her uncle, dashing into his waiting arms to be lifted high into the air. 

A cold, uneasy feeling brought Halim to a stop, just before the door to the Judge's room. He stared down at the wine, wanting to find a window on the edge of the palace grounds and toss it out. Was this to be his life now, he pondered, no more than a servant to Archadia. Even with the first hints of rebellion forming within Bhujerba's own walls, he had not yet gone to contact them. It would have to be soon, or his farce of loyalty to the Archadian Empire would no longer be an act.

First though – first, he reminded himself, the Judge had to trust his willingness to agree to the deal. Perhaps not his enjoyment of the affair, but knowing that he would comply – and he would – was the first step. The closer he got, the easier it would be to slide a knife under Archadian armor.

He straightened and knocked on the door, hearing a muffled sound that could have been a grunt of some kind, but he wasn't about to act on that alone. He waited another minute, then knocked again, louder this time – using the head of his cane.

“Enter!”

Ghis' voice raised was like a mastiff snarling, tone dropping an octave or two for good measure. Even with the Judge's permission, Halim felt some hesitance in entering the private chambers. This was servant's work, and yet here he was. He placed his cane under his arm, taking the swirling brass doorknob in his hand and turning it, listening to the muffled clicks of the interior lock.

He moved just his head and shoulder in at first, squinting to see in the poorly lit room. Lamps were placed on every wall, yet were unlit. The only source of light was the tall, narrow window on the opposite wall. The glass reached to the ceiling, offering a truly staggering view of the lower portion of Bhujerba down the tall slope of the estate, the ocean of evening clouds that surrounded the land cast in gold and red as the sun set. The master bed was to the left of the window, and beside it, a chair had been pulled from the desk along the right wall. 

Red light poured through in a long bar that cast itself strong over the floor and opposing wall. Beside the edge of the light, the Marquis was able to make out a foot, which led to a leg, a thigh, then the chest and torso of what he assumed to be Judge Ghis. He had never seen the man out of full armament, but he caught a hint of light bouncing off of the distinctive curl that sprang out of his hair, and his guess was confirmed. 

The Judge always brought some bit of luggage with him, most of it for maintaining his armor: it included of course clothing to wear once the armor was removed at the end of the day when he was alone. Halim had seen other Archadian nobles, the gentry and the like, touring Bhujerba's streets and Ghis dressed just like them, even with his age, albeit in darker colors. The clothes were tailored and decadent, which offered no surprise. Halim could spot gold trim along the hems of the man's pants and the tall gaiters, brass buttons pinning the fabric down tight. His shoes were polished and sharp, the dark cedar brown matching his vest and gloves. 

He found himself staring yet again; all Archadian gentry had a knack for tight clothes, the better the tailor the higher the price, Halim supposed – but even so, it looked suffocating, as if an invisible force was pushing down so hard on the his arms and chest that the fabric had conformed to his skin within a vacuum. And yet again as well, Ghis did not notice his stare. Rather, the Magister had his head resting back, eyes shut as he breathed slowly, elbows balancing on the armrests of the chair.

“Your Honor?”

Ghis' head snapped up at the Marquis' voice, and he stood quickly, to his own detriment. It was as if the Judge had been smacked across the face: he wavered, and landed back in his chair with a grunt. Bringing a hand to his face quickly, he lowered his head, displaying his respect in the manner he best could. 

“My apologies Marquis, had I been better forewarned I-”

Halim brought a hand up to silence the Judge, who spoke no further. “It is understandable, your Honor, that someone clad in such arms would find the Bhujerban summer intolerable. I can only apologize that you were able to miss out on your evening meal. I can have the chefs prepare you something for an Archadian palette?”

Ghis' eyes were half shut, and he looked to still be in absolute misery as he shook his head.

“That won't be necessary, Your Excellency,” he said after a moment, slowly daring to open his eyes again. 

Halim gave the slightest raise of a silvery brow, but conceded with a nod of his head. He permitted himself to enter further, leaving the door a crack open behind him. He crossed the room, passing through the bar of light cast by the window, and offered Ghis the bottle of wine. The Judge took it without hesitance, wrapping his fingers around it and setting it on the nearby bed. As soon as the hand off was completed, Halim took two steps back, standing at a comfortable distance.

The two stared, the only sound being the slow knocking of the pendulum from a clock that was hung over the door. Ghis finally found the conviction to try and stand again, slowly now. He brought a hand to his chest and did a formal bow, bringing himself back upright steadily so as to avoid another head rush. Halim graced him with a small tilt of his head, and the Judge took that as allowance for him to return to sitting. Seldom if ever did this man ever subordinate to another, and it was clear to Halim that he didn't enjoy it in the slightest. Still, his posturing seemed genuine, and there was the faint nudge of hope that he would believe that Halim's approaching agreement to Lord Vayne's proposal would be seen as entirely honest.

“Would you permit me speak with you?” Halim asked, breaking the heavy silence. Ghis gave a single nod, moving to stand once again, stepping aside and leaning against the tall bed. Halim brought the chair around to face him and sat carefully, resting his hands on his cane as he leaned back.

“It does not require me much thought to know what Lord Vayne desires from Bhujerba – your Doctor's visit to our mines made his wishes quite clear.”

Ghis stared at him, arms crossed, looking like an old vulture perched and waiting for its next meal to die. Halim cleared his throat softly, meeting his gaze.

“I am no fool, your Honor. Be that as it may, I will agree to this transaction. Lord Vayne will receive what he asks. But I would not have you believe I agree to these terms lightly.”

“Agree to them you must,” Ghis responded, without an inkling of sympathy in his voice.

Halim narrowed his eyes, but played his role, and bowed his head in acceptance. “I will have the arrangements made from Bhujerba's borders, but upon the shipments reaching Archadian airspace, that is something that must be taken care of on your end.”

“You needn't concern yourself with that,” the Judge responded, waving a hand dismissively. 

Halim glanced at the bottle of wine, standing with a grunt and walking over to the bed, taking it in his hand.

“A toast then – to our arrangement?”

“Perhaps my mind fails me today as well, but wouldn't glasses be required?”

Halim couldn't hide the small glance upwards, letting out a small snort through his nostrils before turning to make for the door. Ghis was ahead of him though, speaking as he passed him.

“Permit me, Excellency. Your leg, after all.”

Not just a glance upwards, but an entire roll of the eyes now. But he complied despite that, and moved back to sit in the chair, watching as the Judge exited. A few seconds later the barking shout for a passing servant's attention echoed through the hall, and Halim chuckled despite himself. An ugly personality to go with an ugly face, he mused. He kept watch on the clock above the door; tiny magicite stones hovered at its side, keeping it aglow even at night. Eight minutes passed until Ghis returned, holding two wine glasses carefully, the stems clenched between his fingers. He shut the door behind him quietly, offering Halim a glass and then setting his own on the bed, reaching for the bottle to open it. 

This gave Ghis pause, his hand hovering over the cork which was sealed within. Halim leaned to his left, trying to see around the Judge's back. He heard the rising hum of a spell, and a rich purple glow illuminated the sharp edges of the other man, little flecks of light rising up from the front of his shoulders. Halim felt heavier for some reason, as if he were wearing armor, but this minor discomfort didn't last long. A faint pop sounded, and the cork shot down into the bottle, straight through the neck and into the wine itself.

“This shouldn't soil the wine,” Ghis said as he turned, the purple glow and feeling of heaviness lifting away as normalcy returned. “At least not for our toast.” 

Halim held his glass out, watching the dark maroon liquid fall into the glass. It appeared almost black in the near darkness of the room as the sun sank further beneath the clouds. Only a small edge of red could be seen in the corner of the glass, quivering as the liquid settled. Ghis poured his own glass and raised it, looking down at Halim like a hawk honing in on its prey. 

“To Bhujerba's continued cooperation with the Empire,” he said, voice direct and demanding, giving no false niceties or acts. Halim stared back at him, allowing himself a small display of disdain, no longer bothering with his facade. 

“May it benefit us both,” he responded, raising his own glass in turn. Ghis lowered his slightly, the two glasses meeting and tapping against each other lightly before being drawn back to the respective lips of their owners. Halim stared at Ghis as he drank while the Judge's eyes closed as he tilted his head back to down the entire glass. The Marquis only took a few sips: to a Bhujerban, Archadian wine was bitter and on the furthest extreme of dry as one could possibly get. Halim set his glass down on the floor, disliking the taste even the tiniest bit had left on his tongue. Ghis on the other hand seemed eager to continue, pouring himself another glass and taking a long drink before holding it at his side. 

“I trust if anything unfortunate should happen to you, Excellency, that your next of kin can continue this operation as equally discreet and well informed as you have?”

Halim blinked, surprised, and looked up at the Judge. “Next of kin? I have none – but of course, we can pray nothing befalls me so soon after this agreement has been brokered. What is your concern?”

Ghis leaned back against the bed, moving one leg to cross over top the other. “Rozarria's military, though eager and plenty, has not been able to match the technology of Archades. Our zealous Doctor believes he may even conquer the Jagd. The importance of such a step forward cannot be overstated, and you must understand now that this is not an agreement to be fractured should you find yourself in an uneasy position. Your magicite will aid Archades – surely you would not balk at offering your assistance, considering the consequences of what would happen?”

“You needn't elaborate further,” Halim said sharply, “I am fully aware of when threats are made and held taut, eager to be released. Do not speak to me of this any longer. Lord Vayne will have his magicite.”

Ghis looked down at him, the ends of his lips turning up just slightly as he leaned further back against the bed. 

“Forgive me then, Excellency. I will speak no further on it.” He took another sip of his wine, looking away and down, then glancing over at Halim once more.“No next of kin?” he asked, curiosity piqued. 

Halim shook his head, leaning back in his chair further. 

“But surely you have a wife.”

Another shake of Halim's head and by the look on the Judge's face, he could tell this was simply fascinating to the man. 

“You are the fourth in your line, yes? Surely you would not find yourself the last.”

Halim raised an eyebrow at the hint of the shadow of concern within Ghis' voice. Not true concern – rather the kind one would have if their hair wasn't exact before going to a social affair. He carefully raised a leg to cross over his other, elbows resting on the armrests as he clasped his hands together. “Your Honor seems intrigued – what may I ask, is your curiosity?”

“You'll forgive my curiosity then, Excellency. Archadian tradition is much different, and I simply cannot fathom anyone in your position being without an heir or two. The value of ones blood determines many things – back in Archades, at the least. In all manner of upper civility, I should deign to think.”

“You are far from Archades, your Honor. Name or otherwise would not determine one's worth, rather their coin and wit. My House earned their place a time ago because of their wisdom in such ways as how to navigate the merchant class. Not simply blood. We maintain this position because of such strengths.”

Ghis tilted his head, eyebrows pressed up and lips curled in that same smile that Halim found himself wanting to strike from his face since he had first seen him at the fete some months past. 

“And yet it is your blood that has placed you here, and blood alone. Do not take my words to offense however – I believe you an adequate ruler.”

Halim decided to ignore the underlying insult for the time being. After all. he had to suffer Archadia's reaching grasp that had slid around his neck, why not their petty wit as well. He clasped his hands a bit tighter, watching as the Judge turned his attention back to the wine, drinking greedily.

“And yourself? Heirs?”

Ghis nodded as he poured himself yet another glass. Halim could see his eyes beginning to grow bleak and tired. Two glasses of Archadian wine on an empty stomach were sure to have an effect by now, and he was finally beginning to see it.

“Four,” he grunted, looking around for a place to set his glass before realizing there wasn't one. He brought a gloved hand to wipe a small gathering of wine from the edge of his mouth before continuing, “All girls – well, women now. Off and prancing about with their mother. I care little for what they do.”

“Eager to find suitors for them?”

Ghis gave an indignant snort, eyes widening. “And have the gentry grow swell with pride from the wealth of my House, and my line? I would sooner see one of my girls in armor than have some young buck come to my manor and proclaim himself the next to take the helm.”

“You would still try for a male heir – at your age?”

The Judge went from looking stern to downright insulted faster than Halim had ever seen an expression drop. He could only raise both eyebrows at Ghis' sudden turn in mood, unable to hide his surprise.

“It is expected. Required,” Ghis said tersely. “No matter the inconvenience.”

“Is it too bold to ask what your wife thinks of that endeavor?”

“She is well aware of the responsibilities that a woman of her status must maintain. We both are quite informed on how to navigate these rivers. We would not have married each other if we weren't.”

“So a marriage of mutual benefit, then?”

“Oh certainly,” Ghis said, taking the wine bottle, half empty now, and pouring himself another glass. Halim was watching him carefully. The Judge began to show signs of slowing down: his legs bent at the knee slightly and shoulders slumped forward – his standing posture had begun to slouch, and his eyes looked cloudy.

“Are all Archadian marriages arranged as such?” 

Ghis shook his head, tilting his head back to drink. Halim's eyes were on his neck, the faint bit of skin, pale and stretched revealed for a few swift moments from beneath the tight cravat. 

“More commonplace in the great Houses of the elite. The lower classes have the privilege of marrying a partner in which they find true love, or whatever nonsense. Our world is not like theirs, nor should it be.”

Halim tilted his head, tapping his fingers along the curved end of the armrest. “And does your Honor love his wife, despite such necessary rigidity?”

Ghis gave him a look, eyes pointed in a manner that the Marquis had seen before, and he himself had delivered multiple times. He knew such a look well, but it still took a moment for it to register within his mind exactly what that look was trying to tell him.

Oh.

Halim tilted his head back just so, eyes widening for the smallest of moments, but his expression reacted neither positively nor negatively. In fact, he gave no further reaction at all other than to stare. Ghis leered back at him, finishing off yet another glass of wine. He swallowed, setting the emptied glass down on the covers of his bed. The two were locked in place for a while, the wheels turning in Halim's head as he considered the options placed before him. Ghis was staring at him, like he already knew. Of course, the lack of a wife by choice was probably a helpful giveaway.

The stare remained, as if the other was expecting something. Of course he was. 

Halim was no stranger to these quick, flighty episodes – the chances were slim and far between. Still, the Archadian vultures ever did circle, and he was attempting to set his sights proper to bring them down from the skies. He closed his eyes, standing, placing both hands over top his cane.

“Your Honor must forgive me; but the hour is late. I pray tomorrow finds you in better health, and we may conclude the arrangements for Lord Vayne's magicite.” 

Ghis' eyes narrowed and he stood straight, bowing.

“Good evening, Excellency,” he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone – not with a full bottle on an empty stomach.

Halim turned, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him. The air was cooler in the open hallways and he permitted himself a long, drawn out sigh as soon as he was sure of being entirely out of earshot. 

Making his way through the halls, Halim caught the weak attempts at justifying his going back into the room, and taking Ghis up on the unspoken offer. He forced himself to keep walking, an easy task at first, but upon returning to his private chambers, second thoughts stirred and he shifted uneasily. No, a chance like this would not come again soon.

He let out a long suffering sigh, going to a large cabinet within the enormous chambers. Behind the tall doors were rows of bottles, each shaped and colored differently, offering a steady variety for him to choose from. His hand searched out a thick, rotund bottle, pouring himself a hefty glass of the amber liquid within. Two tilts of his head and the glass was empty, but only for a few moments, just the seconds it took to be refilled. 

Halim stared at the large bed, small crystals floating above each post, glowing faintly now that the sun had finally set. A large, warm, comfortable bed awaited him – without any of the dangers inherent in Ghis'. 

An empty bed, an embittered voice grown from too many cold nights and disappointments reminded him. He allowed himself one final chance to justify the situation to himself, feeling already that the sheer want was beginning to overrule the consequences. If he did return, and bed the Empire... Why, that just brought him closer, perhaps even gave him some wiggle room in negotiations. Perhaps. He paced, back and forth, holding the glass in his hand, eyes downcast.

He sighed, stopping, and then returned to the liquor cabinet. 

Halim quickly found himself at Ghis' door once again, knowledgeable enough of the patrolling guards' routes to avoid them. He knocked, fixing the Judge with an aloof glance as the man answered the door. Ghis stepped aside to allow him through without comment, the door clicking shut soon after.

~

They would have to get better guest beds, Halim thought to himself as he awoke. He had never spent a night in one before and they were terribly firm. Last night's events were present in his mind quickly thereafter, and he groaned quietly. 

Between the frustration of trying to unbutton the Judge's vest, undershirt and pants along with all the complaining that he had suffered throughout the entire affair – he could say without hesitancy that it had been acceptable, and no more than that. Of course he had no right to place such a harsh judgment: he had found himself having to pause several times because of fatiguing muscles. 

He spared the body beside him a glance, a bony shoulder rising up like a jagged rock, the Judge's head buried in one of the pillows, the rest of him beneath the thick covers. Halim quietly slid out of bed, gathering his clothes. As he pulled his leggings on, he found himself staring at the suit of armor which stood against the wall on its rack. The empty eyes of the helmet appeared the same as they would have had Ghis been wearing it. It made him uneasy, and as silly as it was he found himself looking back to make sure the sleeping body was still in its bed.

He gave the Judge no further look beyond that, clasping his coat shut and taking his cane. Once the door had been quietly shut he permitted himself a small snort. His own behavior had surprised him, but he had faith enough in Ghis that the Judge knew it would be the end of both their careers if word of such activity got out. With the faith in knowing silence served them both, he turned his train of thought towards the appointments and tasks that awaited him for the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Day by day the Lhusu mines were gouged, a small portion of the magicite heading through a separate route, finding its ways to Archades and the Draklor laboratories. No one would throw accusations at Ondore in the public ear, that would be for certain, but he knew right now that rumors were what he needed. A necessary evil for the greater good that would offer him the comfortable guise of complacency.

Ghis trusted him, or at least believed Ondore was humble enough to fold under Archadian threat. He could only hope that Vayne trusted Ghis enough to believe his word. If Vayne trusted the Magister to send him on duties like these, he was either a reliable ally – or too slippery to be kept anywhere but firmly underfoot and burdened with work.

Ondore had a feeling that it was the latter, but he was already walking the razor's edge, there weren't any safer routes to take.

He summoned an aid over to him, quietly asking for the guard to be brought in. He had to begin gathering the counter-imperials within Bhujerba's walls, as well as review the capabilities of Bhujerba's own fleet of airships. Ondore sighed, feeling the suffocating weight of these tasks in addition to his public duties, and sunk further down into his chair.

~

“Marquis, a letter for you.”

Ondore looked up from his meal, beckoning the guard over and taking the small envelope. He examined the seal, a roundel in the center with rigged edges, with long triangles spreading out to possibly depict some kind of sun motif, the style having been altered over decades of shifting aesthetic preferences. He recognized the motifs from Ghis' armor, and a churning feeling twisted in his stomach. Cutting the letter open with a butter knife, he quickly read over the contents – then read them over again. Slowly raising a hand, he beckoned the nearest guard over.

“Have the guest chambers prepared, and inform the cooks to prepare an Archadian dish for tomorrows dinner.”

The guard bowed, swiftly turning on his heel and walking away. 

Ondore tapped his fingers along the table, shifting uneasily. The letter simply said that he was going to be in Bhujerba for several days, and nothing more. Ondore had to wonder what sort of implications came along with a simple visit. His foot bounced back and forth nervously, and the continual tapping of his fingers on the table drew the attention of the guards, eyes settling on the odd behavior.

“Sir? Are there any other preparations?” A guard hesitantly asked.

Ondore went completely still, clearing his throat softly. “Search the cellars for bottles of an Archadian vintage.”

A small sigh became audible in the brief moment of silence that followed Ondore's orders, and he shot a glance at the guard across the room.

“Your opinion on our guest is noted. To the wine.” Ondore finished his sentence with a few waves of his hand, hurrying the guard off.

~

Ondore could guess easily which airship entering the port belonged to Ghis, Archadian designs were easy to spot amid the lot of Bhujerban merchant vessels. It was the size of an Atomos, with a pale gold sheen that reminded Ondore of Ghis' armor. The lines were slick and curved, but it was clearly an older ship, perhaps made when Ghis was a young man.

He spent the next hour pacing around his room, finding small things to preoccupy his attention for a few minutes then quickly switching to something else. 

Other than their shared sexual preference the two men couldn't have been more different. Ondore knew it wasn't Ghis' personality that was attractive – in fact, nothing was that attractive about him – but to finally be able to share a bed with someone was something Ondore couldn't take for granted. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until the day afterwards, thoughts darting back to arms wrapping around him, and hands sliding down the sides of his body. That was what he'd missed the most, more than anything. Ghis was no stallion, and neither was he, but a brief end to years of isolation had been desperately needed.

He knew the game he was playing was dangerous, but Ghis knew that too. There was so much to lose if a scandal of that magnitude became public.

Ondore looked to the tall liquor cabinet, making a move to unlatch it when a knock came at his door.

“His Honor has arrived, sir.” A muffled voice spoke from the other side. He sighed, turning away from the cabinet and grabbing his cane.

“Have you shown him to his chambers?” Ondore asked, the guard shutting door once he was out in the large hall.

“Yes sir. The cooks informed me that dinner will be ready within the hour,” The guard offered Ondore the bottle of wine he'd been holding. “As you requested.”

“Thank you. Tell the rest of the guard there is no need to be present within the dining hall, this is not a formal affair. You are dismissed.”

The guard departed quietly, leaving Ondore to walk down the multiple corridors that eventually brought him to the familiar doors of the guest suite. He knocked twice, hearing the muffled footsteps inside, the door briefly opening just a hair before swinging ajar.

Ghis was finally able to bow proper now that he wasn't encumbered by armor, or worried that his helmet would slip down. 

“Your Honor.” Ondore greeted with a tilt of his head, “I do hope no fainting spells are in order this time around.”

Ghis' face dropped, easily embarrassed, and his shoulders went rigid. “No, your Excellency. I find the climate to be quite tolerable.”

Ondore couldn't help but grin at the other, offering the bottle of wine. “I am certain you did not travel all the way to Bhujerba simply for this humble gift, however I am curious why you've come, formalities aside.”

Ghis took the bottle, holding it with both hands as he spoke, “Even a Magister is given a paltry few days of leave throughout the year. I've a week to spend as I please, for the length of the harvest festivity.”

“Forgive me, I am not familiar with Archadian holidays.”

“It is a banal jubilee for the working class, and an excuse for the gentry and nobles to partake in all sorts of lecherous behavior.” Ghis said offhandedly, his dislike for the event clear in his voice.

“So naturally you choose to be as far away from your family as possible?” Ondore prodded, a silvery eyebrow twitching upward.

Ghis nearly rolled his eyes at the word 'family' and turned, holding his door open so Ondore could enter. Once the other man was inside, he shut the door and brought the desk chair over for Ondore to sit. Leaning back against the bed and setting the wine on the nightstand, Ghis took a moment to pull his cravat tighter and straighten his vest.

“Forgive me for being blunt, Excellency, but surely you're suspect to my intentions.”

Ondore nodded, and felt quick leap of satisfaction within his chest, “We're both men of a certain position – and I trust you wise enough to keep this strictly a rare and business-like affair, with no disappointment should I be too busy or otherwise engaged to humor you.”

“I'd have it in no other fashion, Excellency.”

“Then we have an understanding. I shall find you at dinner, your Honor.”

Ondore rose, and Ghis moved to open the door for him, bowing as the other exited. As he walked down the hallway, Ondore could feel the other mans eyes on his back, watching him go. Perhaps, he wondered, he had this one more wrapped around his finger than he first realized.

~

Dinner had been brief, with Ghis picking at the food and nibbling politely while Ondore only gave the soup his attention. He made a note to never ask the Bhujerban cook to try and mimic Archadian cuisine ever again. From first bite both of the men had shared a look across the table, Ghis stuck in mid-chew, forcing himself to swallow. Ondore had to compliment his ability to keep a straight face through the whole affair, because the food was truly dreadful and neither had the constitution to stomach much of it. Ghis had made attempts at nibbles here and there, with Ondore giving his attention to the slightly less intolerable soup.

They'd given it an hour before standing to depart, saying terse goodbyes as the guards stood at attention, going their separate ways. 

Two hours afterwards found Ondore resting in his study, a quarter way through a book. The courtyard of his estate was directly visible from his window, and the sound of multiple footfalls in tandem below gave him the hint he needed. Closing his book and standing, Ondore quickly dimmed the small decorative lantern at his nightstand and pressed his ear against the door. He could hear the dwindling sound of a belt and scabbard clinking together and paused. Waiting until there was only silence, Ondore quickly slid out of his chambers, shutting the door behind him.

As he walked down the hall towards the guest chambers, a sudden worry struck him. If there was a sudden emergency, the guard would come rushing to his chambers to find him gone, and then what? Of course, the last place they would search would be the guest room, but he wouldn't want to be absent if something did occur. He quickly justified his choice – the mines were closed for the night, the paling was up, the weather was fair and it was a slow night at port. 

Knocking softly on the guest chamber doors, it wasn't but a few seconds until they were opened. Sliding through, the door shutting quietly behind him, Ondore didn't waste time in setting his cane against the nearby chair and starting to pull at the cords that kept his coat shut. The same shuffling of clothes was happening on the other side of the bed, Ondore glancing over to watch Ghis pull the short vest off and fumble to unbutton the tunic beneath. His heart was pounding in his ears, beating rapidly with excitement; the walk from his chambers had stretched his patience much too thin.

Ghis was down to his breeches in under a minute, hobbling awkwardly on one foot as he tugged off a shoe. Ondore kept his eyes on the other for a moment longer, then glanced away, shrugging off his coat and letting it drop the floor. As he tugged at the jeweled tie around his neck, an invading set of hands reach around and do the job for him. The smirk on Ghis' face as he quickly untied the fabric didn't have the normal contempt that Ondore had come to expect, in fact he seemed quite sympathetic.

“I would prefer we finish before sunrise, Excellency.” Ghis drawled, searching for the well hidden buttons upon Ondore's shirt.

He chose to ignore that barb, thoughts elsewhere as he leaned against the other man for support, reaching down to pull his boots off. As his shirt was pulled off for him, Ondore laughed at the sight of Ghis taking a moment to fold it neatly. 

“It would wrinkle terribly otherwise!”

Ondore didn't grace him with a response, sliding his pants off and climbing on the bed, pulling the heavy covers aside for them both. He spotted Ghis giving him a long stare, and cleared his throat, beckoning him to hurry up.

“The lamp, your Honor.” Ondore mumbled once Ghis began to climb on the bed. He slid off and dimmed the small light, looking over to Ondore, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The luminaries along the outer walls of the estate provided enough external light for each to see the borders of objects and spaces.

“Why the dark? You needn't be ashamed of yourself.” Ghis asked, reaching into the nightstand to take out a small, ornate glass vial. He slid on to the bed, swinging a leg over Ondore to straddle him. Ondore found himself at a momentary loss – he couldn't tell if Ghis was mocking him or being genuine. 

He brought a hand up quickly, placing it between his face and Ghis' to pause any further action.

“I would beg you be silent.” Ondore said quietly, “Speak no further for this.”

For the briefest moment Ghis looked confused, but it passed so quickly that Ondore thought nothing further on it. The judge simply bowed his head in submissive acquiescence, sliding down further to nestle between Ondore's legs. Ghis pressed a hand against Ondore's stomach, the other wrapped firmly around a thigh, head bending downward. Ondore's heart raced at the sight of the judge so easily tamed, put into place quicker than he ever would've imagined. Those thoughts quickly flew aside, Ghis' tongue on him drawing out a quick gasp of surprise. 

Resting his head back on the pillow, he brought an arm to rest over his forehead, the other at his side. Ghis was eager to please, it seemed, not that he would ever complain about silent enthusiasm. 

“Enough.” He muttered after a few minutes, watching as Ghis paused, lifting his head up and wiping the edge of his mouth. “I pray you perform better this time than the last.”

The look of utter indignation on Ghis' face was something that Ondore wouldn't trade for a thing in the world, and it made the judge's obedience all the more satisfying. While Ghis turned, finding his small vial among the heavy sheets, Ondore stared at the twisting cordage of muscle under pale, pockmarked skin that hadn't seen sunlight in ages. Small cuts and scars told of minor injuries from skirmishes and old sparring mishaps, but Ondore could spy no major injuries along the waxy flesh. He glanced away as soon as Ghis turned back around, rubbing his slick hands over himself. The judge looked to Ondore, both hands grasping the back of each knee, keeping his legs supported. Ondore gave him a single nod, answering the silent inquiry, inhaling slowly as Ghis eased into him. 

If Ondore were forced to give the judge one due credit – he could keep his silence. Other than heavy breathing and the rare grunt, Ghis maintained a strict quiet on himself. It was better than last time, Ghis' wounded pride giving him the motivation to put forth a valiant effort. As the pace increased, Ondore sat up, reaching out with one arm to tap Ghis' shoulder, drawing his attention. They were both quick studies to what the other wanted, and Ghis paused to help Ondore on to his lap, the two now face to face. They spared each other the trouble of any inconvenient embarrassment, avoiding eye contact. Despite that, Ghis' hands were up and down his back, arms wrapping around his torso tightly to hold him steady. 

The judge's breathing grew heavier from the strain, supporting Ondore along with the rest wasn't an easy task, but he would see it through for nothing else than to spite the perceived inadequacy. Nails digging into his back and a small groan told Ondore that Ghis was close, but he wouldn't have it.

“So soon?” 

The nails loosened, groan dying away quickly – that did it. Ondore brought his arms around Ghis' shoulders, resting them there, adding more weight on to the already burdened man. They kept up the quickening pace, until finally Ghis had to lean forward and lower Ondore back on to the bed, panting. He held up a hand, silencing the beginning of Ondore's protest, the other hand sliding down to his lower back, massaging whatever muscle had been set fire there. Watching the hands on the clock across the room, he gave the judge a minute and a half before letting out a small sigh, tapping his fingers on the bed. 

Ghis turned, taking up the nearest of Ondore's legs and bringing it to rest on his shoulder. He kept his gaze downward, neither looking at the other as Ghis began again, this time much quicker and rougher. It didn't take long at that strength and pace, Ondore arching slightly upwards, fingers curling in the heavy sheets as his hips jerked upwards in a few shallow thrusts. Letting himself rest for a few seconds, he kept his eyes closed, feeling Ghis pull out, the sound of sharp gasps telling him that the other was done as well.

Ondore opened his eyes after a while, lazily edging up, supporting himself with his elbows. Ghis had moved to the other side of the bed, laying on his side, nursing his back. 

“Come here.” Ondore murmured, indulging in his want for nothing more than the continued touch of another. Ghis rose, bent forward slightly, and turned, scooting across the bed to lay beside him. Bringing the covers up over them both, Ghis watched Ondore's reaction as he carefully brought the other man's back up against his chest and slid his arms around him. A long sigh and relaxing shoulders were the signals he needed, and Ghis carefully eased himself down completely onto the bed, listening to the other breath.


	5. Chapter 5

Ghis walked quietly along the stone streets, the narrowing alleyways supplying him with privacy and silence. The sky above was a deep navy, stars speckling the expanse in a manner that wasn't visible in Archades, where the lights never dimmed along the avenues. He kept his eyes skyward, watching the celestial display for a little while longer before his attention was drawn elsewhere, expression growing stony as he looked forward.

Two people slid out of a nearby side street; one was a well dressed Archadian tourist, her hair swept up in an intricate woven style with jewelry hanging from the sides of her head. The man with her was a Bhujerban, wearing a heavy shawl over his shoulders in the cool morning air. 

“Well?” Ghis asked quietly, voice barely a murmur over the distant sound of airships.

“Swell with counter-imperials 'ere sir,” The man whispered. Despite his authentic Bhujerban features, his accent was undeniably Archadian, “I'll 'ave the reports ready for Judge Gabranth in the fortnight.”

“Good. Now pick up all those damn H's you dropped, you sound like a Vulgar. Dismissed.”

The man turned, shoulders slumping as he disappeared back into an alleyway. Ghis' attention turned to the woman, who straightened her posture once he set his eyes on her.

“I have my report prepared for Judge Gabranth.” She said, taking out a sealed envelope from beneath her belt, offering it to the Judge. He took it, looking at the seal, then back at the woman. She frowned, glancing at Ghis.

“Judge Gabranth requested that no one view these reports before they're brought to him, your Honor, a manner of internal security, he said.”

Ghis snorted, tucking the letter away into his vest. “I'm certain.” While his hand was there, he searched out something else, finding a small folded piece of parchment and handing it to her.

“Your orders from Judge Gabranth. You're dismissed if there's nothing else?”

“No, your Honor.” The woman did a quick salute before turning and walking off, disappearing easily within the maze of turns and cobblestones.

~

Ghis looked up from the neatly organized stacks of papers on his desk, hearing a knock on the door. He stood, walking over, opening it by a few inches.

“Your Honor,” A guard was standing outside, “The Marquis regrets to inform you that he cannot entertain your company today. He has various official duties to fulfill that are scheduled throughout the morning and afternoon. He does request your presence at dinner, and apologizes once more for the inconvenience.”

“Tell his Excellency I will be present for the evening meal. You may go.” Ghis said simply, and shut the door, returning to his desk and papers. 

A hard leather case was opened on the bed, one half filled with a stack of papers and a small, soft cover book with a worn away sleeve. The other half was fitted with a cramped but neatly folded stack of clothes, which had yet to be touched. 

Ghis continued to go through the documents in front of him one by one, reading over the lines of unique handwriting on each before reaching for an ornate pen and signing off on the bottom. After signing off on several papers, he stood and took the small book out of his luggage, flipping through its pages, stopping at one and reading it over. He sat back down, drawing long lines through various sentences and paragraphs of one of the papers, writing rapid, terse corrections along the body of the report, leaving it unsigned. 

This process went on for most of the day, the Judge only standing to stretch now and then. Over time the papers changed from hand written reports to those authored by a type machine. Those papers were filled from header to footer with text, Ghis having to bring the papers up close to his face to read them proper, squinting in the ebbing light of the afternoon. 

As time went on the Judge's head began to bob back and forth, eyes shutting as he slumped in his chair, papers abandoned. A sudden knock brought him jumping up from his seat, the pen that had been loosely dangling from his hand falling to the carpet. Ghis muttered under his breath and quickly snatched it up, clearing his throat.

“Enter!”

Upon seeing Ondore press the door open, Ghis was quick to offer him a bow. The Marquis nodded, eyes darting to the papers on the desk for a quick second before flickering back to Ghis.

“Dinner, your Honor.”

Ghis nodded, “Of course.” Turning and setting the pen back on the table, taking a quick moment to straighten the papers out, he switched off the small brass lamp and followed Ondore out into the hall.

“I thought your Honor was to be on leave.” the Marquis said as he walked slowly through the hall, Ghis beside him. “Is your work so rewarding that you cannot bear a minor respite without it?”

This drew a snort from the Judge, who merely shook his head. “The Bureau has near 200 Judges that report directly to me, along with military court and duties as officiant. Whatever rites or ceremonies that are pending must also be approved by the grounds committee for proper placement, then of course the taxing committee for public events, the review board and so on. Once they find their way to me, in most cases it is a simple matter of offering a signature.”

“A wonder anything in your Archades gets done at all.” 

“And yet progress marches on, at an ever quickening pace.” Ghis responded, eyebrows perking up as he smirked. 

Ondore's narrowed gaze slid to his right, but Ghis didn't notice - more preoccupied with straightening his vest and cuffs.

Dinner was short and uneventful, the cook having given up on capturing anything that the bitter Archadian palette might have found impressive. Ondore was grateful, not wanting to have to suffer through another hungry night. He cast a small glance to Ghis, the Judge seeming equally unimpressed by excellent Bhujerban food as much as he was by the poor Archadian fare that had been served the night before. Ondore would have found himself insulted if Ghis hadn't actually eaten, but his table manners weren't lacking, and even with the vastly different flavors, it was still much more tolerable.

“When are you set to leave, your Honor?” Ondore asked quietly.

“The day after tomorrow I believe. I've business to attend to within my estate before my duties resume.” 

Ondore reached for the glass of madhu, drinking a small sip before return it beside his plate.

“I shall take a recess of my duties tomorrow. I've some errands in the morning, but naught in the afternoon.”

“A crime in itself, such ample time.”

The two were silent afterwards, finishing and standing. Ondore knocked on the dining hall door to indicate the staff were to enter and begin cleaning. He left Ghis without a word, the Judge equally finding his way to the stairs opposite the dining hall with nothing to say. 

Ondore found himself in the northern wing, his own chambers down the short, wide hall. The clanking of sword and scabbard drew his attention and he turned, looking down the carpeted steps as a guard rushed towards him.

“Your Excellency,” He greeted with a quick bow, his tone growing hushed, “I've word from the resistance forces. They seek an audience to discuss terms and conditions.”

Ondore glanced away, silent in thought, before looking back to the guard. “Inform them in two days time. I shall be fit to meet with them once our guest has departed.”

“Your Excellency.” The guard bowed, turning to leave but suddenly halted, catching Ondore's attention.

The guard turned around, looking back up at him, clearing his throat.

“May I be permitted to speak boldly, your Excellency?”

An eyebrow rose slowly, and Ondore gave the guard a single nod.

“Why entertain this Archadian murkha? We must tolerate their arrogance and fussing tourists on our streets – and now you dine with one? It seems a serpent deepening its fangs within Bhujerba herself every time one of their dainty folk complains of our ways.”

Ondore listened, resting both hands on his cane as he stared down at the guard. He gave some pause between the guard finishing, letting out a small sigh before speaking.

“In truth I've no love for these tedious affairs. I predict this visit merely their way of sending reminder that we must entertain their interests. It is a petty act, but I am bound by civility to see to his stay. Archadian military pampers those of noble blood, to not treat him as anything less than his lineage demands would be seen as a direct insult. We must all play our parts.”

“For now, Excellency?” The guard ventured.

His query was met with a slight twitch of Ondore's lips into an amused half-grin. “My part it seems has given me such malaise. I would ask not to be disturbed tomorrow, so I may sleep the rest of this visit off. Our guest can be entertained by Bhujerba in his lonesome for one more day, I am sure.”

The guard was satisfied by Ondore's remarks, dismissing himself quietly. Watching him leave, the Marquis felt a sudden pang of guilt strike him. He hated the want, the need for company and the difficulty in finding it. Never had his choice of company been an issue, but the production of an heir, the family name, those were all things that had to be considered. 

Ghis was lucky, he'd found a partner who neither craved his attention or desired him, only his wealth and affluent family name. A partner that could also conveniently provide him with heirs to secure that name for the future. Ondore felt the strain of that requirement and the inability to fulfill it. He had wealth enough to secure a comfortable life should he depart from his title, and the thought had crossed his mind more than once – but now, as his vitriol and resentment towards the Empire was growing, he knew that using his position to further the cause was paramount. 

It was pointless to ask any more of himself, and foolish to compare himself to an Archadian. They lived different lives, with different opportunities and privilege. 

Ondore clutched his cane a little tighter, closing his eyes. He would ensure his privilege helped swing the sword that would cut the Empire down.

~

 

Ghis' eyes darted to the clock again and again, yet time seemed to grow slower the more he wished it would speed up. He felt a sudden reminiscence of his Akademy days, in tutelage with the rest of his class, the scratch of pen and ink filling the otherwise silent halls of the magicks wing. He smirked, grunting to himself. Yes indeed he had been a fine student, but it had been his fervor and wit that had earned him the favor of his superiors. Those abilities were as dangerous in Archades as any well honed blade – but perhaps not so outside of its borders.

The Judge was resting against the headboard of the bed, shoes placed side by side together at the base of the desk. A bound report that was easily the size of a small book was in his hands, a page being flipped every couple of minutes. After every flip of the page his eyes would dart upward to check the time, this routine repeating until two hours had passed. 

Frowning, Ghis set the dissertation down and slid off the bed, starting to walk from one corner of the room to the other. He paused at the door, placing his ear against it, listening carefully. Only silence answered on the other side, and he stood up straight, crossing his arms. The Judge began to pace around the room, a loud sigh escaping him every couple of minutes until he finally gave up with one final, monumental exhale, shoulders slumping. Ghis gave the door one last, bitter look, before turning away and sliding his vest off. 

Once all of his clothes were removed and neatly folded, he switched off the lamps and let the room fall dark. Sitting on the bed, he stared out the tall, narrow window upon the sleeping city below. Bhujerba was remarkably silent, the estate too far from the Aerodrome for any airship engines to be heard, and there was no night life whatsoever. The city woke and slept to the business hours of its shops – the miserable life of the working class. The thought brought a sneer to Ghis' face and he turned away, slipping under the covers, bitter resentment filling him as he stared at the empty space beside him.


	6. Chapter 6

Ondore knocked at the guest room door, glancing back behind his shoulder, checking the hallway quickly. He frowned, fingers tapping on his cane as he waited. There was no answer, adding to his frustration. The night before he'd found himself waking twice, impatiently glaring at the clock, regretting his decision to leave Ghis alone for the night. It had been born from the bitter sound of the guard's words, and the definitive truth that they spoke. He hated Ghis, from the curl on his brow to the click of his shoes on the tile floors, but he could set it aside to just get the brief moments of intimacy. Moments which were supposed to be happening at that moment, yet weren't. 

He gave two more loud knocks at the door, glancing behind him once more to ensure the hall was empty. The door stayed shut, no grunt or call to enter sounding from the inside. The Marquis frowned, and reached for the door knob, turning it slowly. He spotted a familiar lump in the bed, and allowed himself entry, door clicking shut behind him. 

“Did I not say that this day was made free for our shared want?” Ondore said, voice carrying across the room. 

Ghis groaned, slowly being pulled out of his sleep by the voice, but still too dull witted by slumber to understand what was being said. Ondore frowned, sighing and sitting down at the desk, rapping his fingers against the wood impatiently. As he sat there, the Judge slowly pulled himself out of his haze, looking absolutely haggard, hair splayed out on one side and pressed against his face on the other, wrinkles prominent in the cold morning light. Not that Ondore had found him that handsome to begin with, but this, no doubt, was the man at his worst. 

Ghis mumbled something that sounded like 'Excellency', only through a slurred, stuffy filter. On instinct he moved to stand and bow, but Ondore quickly held a hand up to stop him, and the Judge opted to simply lower his head.

“I thought you would have been more eager, your Honor, I pray I do not bore you?”

“Not at all, Excellency,” Ghis croaked, throat and mouth dry. He cleared his throat a few times, voice returning to normal. “I apologize...but am I mistaken in recalling that your Excellency had naught to do in the afternoon, but still some tasks in the morning? I do hope you weren't require to reschedule for the sake of my company.”

Ondore frowned, catching the bitterness in Ghis' voice. He met the Judge's eyes, knowing full well he'd been a fool to let his desperation slip into full view. If the Judge wanted to pretend at restraint and apathy, Ondore had an answer for that as well.

“...Perhaps you are right, your Honor. Forgive me, it was not my intent to disturb such desperately needed sleep.”

He stood, watching as Ghis' arm was twisted, his face contorting into a frown with just a few simple words. Being superior to others without any challenge must have dulled the once thick hide Ghis may have possessed, trained stoicism wasting away into the quick anger that older men so easily succumbed to. It was all there for Ondore to witness, and he simply waited for the words he knew were coming.

“Your Excellency...I apologize. Perhaps I was too rash in my assumptions. Forgive my offense.”

Ondore stood, glancing back at the door, then proceeded to turn slowly.

“Marquis...”

The desperation was palpable, and Ondore felt a deep satisfaction settle within him. He turned around, sighing, as if it was such a great charity he was about to bestow. Ondore found himself surprised, seeing Ghis' face, the tiniest hint of resentment in the Judge's eyes. The Marquis' fingers were quick to tug and pull at his coat, sliding it off as he walked over to the bed, climbing on and over top of Ghis, pulling him into an uncomfortable kiss. 

~

Ondore felt a cold, hard nudge on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, still panting, and looked over. Ghis was holding the bottle of Archadian wine he'd been gifted with, half of it already gone. Ondore shook his head at the offer, Ghis pulling it back over to his own side and taking another small drink before bending over the side of the bed to place it carefully on the floor.

Ghis had stayed true to their earlier agreement of silence, and Ondore was grateful. It had been much easier to imagine the body arching beneath him had been that of an old flame from when he was a younger man.

“How long will you need?” Ondore asked after a few minutes, sliding one leg over the other. 

“An hour perhaps.”

Ondore elected to close his eyes, dozing off easily even in the mid-morning. Feeling himself drift in and out in the few minutes of lucidity that came before sleep took hold, he clumsily reached for the nearby covers, hand floundering until he felt them placed in his palm. 

~

“Mmmh...”

Ghis looked up from the bound report he was reading, glancing across the bed at Ondore, who was finally beginning to stir after three hours. The Judge would've taken the same indulgence but he knew between the both of them, if just left to sleep, they wouldn't wake until the afternoon or evening. He snorted quietly, looking back to his report, the bottle of wine nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm.

“You set such a distinguished image, your Honor.”

Ghis turned to look at him, a tiny grin tugging at his lips. “I'm sure the rest of Bhujerba will be so eager to hear about it.”

Ondore sat up further, scratching his scalp. “Has the first shipment of Magicite reached Archades?”

The Judge simply shrugged. “I haven't been informed.”

This drew Ondore's curiosity, his head tilting. “You don't know?”

“I haven't been informed.”

Ghis continued reading, until noticing the silence between himself and Ondore. He looked over, lowering the papers he'd been scanning.

“You find yourself surprised?”

“I'd have thought you better informed, this operation-”

“Is under Lord Vayne, with the assistance of our good Doctor.”

Ondore tapped his fingers quietly on the bed, watching Ghis flip another page of his report. The Judge either didn't notice or care, fumbling for a pen on the nightstand to scribble in a footnote. Ondore wondered just how far he could pick at the tiny hint of annoyance that he'd heard in Ghis' voice pertaining to Vayne, just how far that thread could unravel.

“Lord Vayne neglects to inform you of such matters, even when you are tasked to perform the busy work?”

He could practically feel the annoyance oozing off of the other as he lowered his reading, turning to face Ondore.

“Your Excellency,” The Judge's tone was sharp and clipped, “Sometimes the best of us must do as we are commanded. It is within my duty as Judge Magister to serve House Solidor in matters both large and small.”

“Forgive me for speaking so plainly your Honor, but it seems a rather short leash that Lord Vayne keeps you on.”

Ghis' face turned cold and stony, brows furrowing. Ondore knew then he'd hit his mark, whatever buried resentment that had been tucked away boiling to the surface. It was quickly pushed back under, but it had been there, seething on the surface for a few seconds. 

“Pardon my bluntness your Excellency but you did not join me in bed to talk – as you are so oft eager to remind me. Shall we continue?” Ghis asked, turning to set the report aside. 

Ondore grunted, giving a small nod as the other turned back around to face him. Ghis had a coy look on his face as he watched the other man slowly sit up, wincing all the while at a sore muscle or two..

“Take your time, your Excellency, you've that leg and back to consider, after all.” Ghis said after a few seconds, scooting back to sit up against the pillows. Ondore shot him a flat stare, drawing a laugh from the other, before crawling over top of him.

“Our agreement, your Honor?” He asked, wrapping a hand around Ghis' leg to give it a tug to the side.

Ghis raised both hands in surrender, but that grin was locked in place as he leaned back, taking in a long, slow breath to relax.

~

Ondore knew he'd have to return to his chambers soon, but the bed was still too warm and his hunger for company too strong. It was his turn to hold the other close against him, face buried in wavy, gray hair. It could have been worse – he figured. The smell of Archadian bath salts weren't all that unpleasant. He began to shift to get a better grip when the other began to stir. Ondore immediately panicked, sliding his arms away from Ghis' body, having placed them there after the man had dozed off. 

Ghis didn't vocalize his protest; instead reaching up and catching Ondore's wrist by luck, pulling the arm back around him and letting out a long sigh, sinking back into the heavy covers. Ondore relaxed, glancing at the window as the clouds slowly turned from white to red, the sun beginning to set. He'd leave in a half hour, he decided, more than enough time to be back in his own room when his aids would come knocking to announce tomorrows schedule. He pressed his forehead against the back of Ghis' neck, breathing against his skin.

A loud knock to the door sent Ghis bolting upright, his elbow swinging back and straight into Ondore's forehead. The Judge turned, apologizing rapidly under his breath, then raising his voice to shout back at the door.

“A moment!”

Ghis stumbled to his clothes strewn on the floor, looking back to Ondore as he pulled his breeches on. Ondore stared back at him, wide eyed, shrugging helplessly. He looked around, heart pounding in his ears, face flush with embarrassment. Stumbling off the bed, he grabbed his long coat, wrapping it around himself, and shuffling as quietly as he could to the furthest corner of the room that was built along the same wall as the door. Ghis watched him, buttoning his shirt and pulling his vest on over it, not bothering to close it as he tidied up his hair and approached the door. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes and taking in a long breath, genuine condescension replacing panic and surprise as he opened the door.

“A dispatch from Archades, marked urgent, your Honor.” The guard outside said quietly. Ondore had pressed himself up against the wall, but he could hear the sound of fingers along paper, creasing and folding it.

“Is this all?” Ghis asked tiredly.

“Yes, your Honor.”

“You may leave.”

Ghis shut the door, placing a hand over his heart as soon as it was latched shut. He looked over at Ondore, the two exchanging a stare. Ghis began to grin, laughing softly to himself, turning away. Ondore felt the rising urge to do the same, but forced it away – he would be damned if he was going to start enjoying the Archadian's company. 

Watching as he walked across the room, Ghis opened up the small slip of paper, reading the message. The Judge sighed loudly, crumpling it in his hand and looking around, starting to gather his papers and clothes.

“Lord Vayne summons me to Archades immediately. I must depart at once.”

“Even on this long holiday?”

Ghis didn't look up from his luggage case, folding his clothes and setting them in beside the stack of mostly read papers. “Duty comes foremost, your Excellency, I'm sure you understand that better than most.” He looked up, smiling at Ondore, the very act causing the sides of his face to crease with wrinkles. “Is my company going to be missed?”

“Not in the slightest.” Ondore answered back calmly, stooping down to gather his clothes. 

Ghis was done packing by the time Ondore had finished dressing, the Marquis grabbing his cane from the chair and looking to Ghis as the Judge approached the door.

“The leash ever shortens, your Honor.”

Ghis grunted, bowing to Ondore, then turning and placing his ear against the door. He waited a few seconds then opened it quietly, his luggage under one arm, then shut it behind him. Ondore stood still, listening as the knob clicked quietly. He heard Ghis' footfalls down the hallway for a few seconds, then they were gone. Waiting a good ten minutes, Ondore performed the same check, ear against the door, then quietly exiting, the small crystals above the door dimming once it was free of occupants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be on temporary hiatus through November, and will resume in December. Happy holidays!


	7. Chapter 7

“Marquis, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”

Ondore felt a genuine smile cross his face, and he politely bowed his head to the young lord. 

Ghis stood beside Larsa and nodded approvingly. “Lord Larsa's manners are never at question, Excellency.” He turned and looked down at the young Solidor. “I leave you with your cortege, Lord Larsa. Dinner will be promptly at sundown, your presence is expected at the Estate.”

“Of course, Judge Ghis.”

Larsa turned, walking off at a light, easy stride. The guards assigned to his protection bowed to the Magister, then turned to follow. 

Ondore turned back to Ghis, smile fading. “Unquestionably polite, respectful, and adherent to status. All that I'd expect from a son of Archades.”

“Beneath that slick veneer is still a child, your Excellency. One that requires constant, active supervision.” Ghis drawled, beginning to walk across the bridge. Ondore turned and matched his pace, both aids in tow. Two Archadian guards walked ahead of them, citizens quickly moving aside to avoid them and the following pair. Some of the Bhujerbans politely bowed their heads to the Marquis, but the Archadians received no such respect.

“Are you not a guard of House Solidor? I do not imply that your duties be babysitting, your Honor, but shouldn't it be your blade that protects the young lord? Rather than the average steel of the common soldier?” Ondore asked, smirking at Ghis' sigh as it exited his helmet.

“Lord Vayne cannot expect me to both carry out his wishes on this particular matter and keep the young Lord entertained. I simply have too many duties to perform, and if anything untoward were to happen to the young Lord while I was occupied with this pressing matter, well...It simply was an unfortunate accident.”

“Your Honor sounds truly set upon by conflict.”

“It's a taxing matter, your Excellency.”

~

Ghis hadn't said a word since they set back on the path to the estate. The poor girl that had run into them had begun to frustrate Ghis the moment she opened her mouth. Ondore could think of no better opportunity to get the Magister riled up than allow her inside of his very home like the Imperial himself. Once they reached the large flight of stairs that lead up to the main gates, Ghis finally spoke. 

“Is it common for the nobility of Bhujerba to allow street rabble into their homes?”

“Would you have me deny the young Lord's request? Lord Larsa's displeasure could spell some form of punishment handed down by his elder brother.” Ondore countered.

Ghis snorted, shoulders tensing and jerking up. “Even Lord Vayne would understand that we simply do not allow street churls to be picked up like souvenirs.” He sighed, dragging his feet up the steps as they passed the halfway mark, “But what the young Lord chooses to do with this young Lady is ultimately his own trouble.”

“You intend to leave them unsupervised?”

Ghis waved his hand lazily at the notion. “I've no intention of involving any manpower in that affair. Whatever mess the young Lord gets himself into will simply be a lesson in responsibility. Lord Larsa will eventually grow bored of the young Lady's presence, and we can deposit her back in Rabanastre, since she seems so keen on returning.”

Ondore frowned, speaking in a hushed tone. “You risk a tightening bridle upon yourself, your Honor, with such flagrant disregard for the wants of a son of Archades.”

“Is this concern for my safety, Excellency?” Ghis asked. Ondore could hear him smirking, even with the strain of effort in his voice. Climbing the stairs would always be a difficult foe, it seemed. 

“Concern for my own. Should something unfortunate happen to the young Larsa while he's on Bhujerban soil...”

“Then I would be wise to remind the Marquis that he permitted the street girl's presence on his grounds in the first place. Even Lord Vayne knows I would have never permitted it, had it been my decision.”

The two reached the top of the stairs, Larsa and his new accessory wandering around the main courtyard together. Ondore couldn't help but feel pity for the girl, who must've been touched in the mind to come up with such an outlandish tale. The thought of heat sickness crossed his thoughts – but she didn't seem at all bothered by the trip up the steps or wearing her leathers. Normally foreigners struggled to deal with the heat, but the young woman had impressive constitution despite her size. Another thought crossed his mind, perhaps the thin air had caused her hysteria - but she wasn't rash in word or action any longer. He considered the validity of her story, but knew that to entertain the thought would ultimately be pointless. There were other priorities that needed sorting, and the Imperials would be gone soon.

“Dinner will be at sundown.”

Ghis turned his attention from Larsa back to Ondore,“I'm afraid I cannot, nor can the young Lord or Lady. We must rejoin the detachment before sundown.”

“Saddled with work as usual?”

“Are we disappointed at the brisk nature of this visit, Excellency?” 

“Saddled only with remorse at the food wasted. The cooks were thinking you would be here for dinner, as well as the young Lord.”

“Then be grateful we're leaving early, Excellency. The young Lady would've taxed your chefs to provide additional food this evening.”

Ondore turned away, annoyed. He narrowed his eyes, saying nothing as Ghis laughed and walked past him towards the mansion.

Anxiety was ripe in Ondore's mind - the pieces were beginning to move across the board. Ghis had to stay blind, or at least remain dull witted by Ondore's affections. Still, he knew he was treading a thin line with how far he could lead the other on without him growing suspect. It was no secret that spies walked the streets of Bhujerba, but Ondore clung to the hope that Ghis was truly as uninformed as he had been lead to believe. For the first time, he found himself praying that Vayne's paranoia about the Magister's devious nature was entirely correct.

~

Ondore walked silently through the estate, a guard passing him by, offering a salute. Ondore returned a humble smile, continuing on down the hall until he reached Ghis' room. He lifted the head of his cane to the door, tapping on it gently. Soon the door opened and he gave a small glance backwards to ensure the hall was clear of prying eyes before slipping inside.

Both men began to undress quickly, Ondore pausing to reach back and lock the door. Ghis had shed his armor a short time ago and set it on the collapsible rack his aid had brought along. The Marquis paused to watch as Ghis peel off what had been underneath the plackart and greaves – a strange, matte leather that had only before been visible on the man's forearm.. 

“You didn't take the time to change your attire in full, your Honor?”

“Is that a hint of disappointment from his Excellency? I left my informal silks back on the detachment vessel. Pointless to bring them along for such a brief visit.”

“Disappointment is too strong a word.”

Ghis had a crooked grin plastered on his face as he slid across the bed, beckoning Ondore to him. Setting his cane against the wall, the Marquis glanced at the tall window near the bed. The Magister's eyes followed, and the grin weakened.

“We've not much time, hurry on now.” Ghis urged quietly, offering the other man a hand. Ondore sighed and took it, allowing Ghis to help him up onto the bed. 

“Why are you so hurried? I informed the guard I would be occupied until sunset, it is three hours until then.” 

Ghis huffed, leaning back against the pillows. “I have been summoned back to the detachment within the next hour rather than sundown. They informed me that the matter is urgent, and requires the attention of myself personally. No doubt some trite duty like a signature for the bureau that simply must be returned on the morrow to Archades lest the public affairs department twist themselves into an absolute frenzy over a zoning-”

Ondore brought his lips against Ghis', silencing him. The Magister sighed, grunting in agreement as he relaxed, head sinking further into the pillow. Ghis tilted his head back, letting Ondore kiss down the stretched skin to his collarbone. After a moment the Magister opened his eyes and cleared his throat, drawing Ondore's attention.

“You must forgive me for speaking when I should not.” Ghis said quietly, hesitance clear in his voice. Ondore heard the tone and sat up, intrigued, and nodded for him to continue. 

“There has been so much turmoil as of late, with the insurgency at Rabanastre, and there are Archadian fingers pointing at shadows to try and find someone to blame. You are a wise man, Excellency. Though Archadian reigns be hard burden to bear, it is one you have carried with dignity – despite your taste for bucking about.” The edges of his lips tugged up at an attempt to smile, failing after a few seconds. “I would beg you make the wisest decision among the choices granted to you in the coming months. The Rozarrian brutes draw ever closer, and Bhujerba's exports are known from one end of Ivalice to the other. If you were to ally with Archades in the future, we could offer Bhujerba protection from any potential invasions.”

Ondore fought hard not to let his face show the disgust that was roiling up in his stomach. The arousal he'd been so eager to feel had vanished, leaving him cold. He turned away, sitting up on the bed, staring at the opposing wall. Ghis lay still, watching him, beginning to shift uncomfortably after a few seconds of silence. 

The Marquis turned to looked back at him, brows furrowed, ready to offer a scathing rebuttal – but stopped short. He stared at the Magister, the man's face relaying genuine, earnest concern. True – no doubt part of that concern was whether he'd just ruined the atmosphere, Ondore figured. Still, the realization hit him that despite all of the ridiculous, trite, banal arrogance and downright rudeness that the Magister displayed – there was actual concern in his meaning. He had his own interpretation of Ondore's best intentions in mind, and while the Marquis resented him still– the smallest bit of affection had begun to grow inside of him. Not genuine adoration or love, but rather a strange bit of pity one would feel for a dog that was much too desperate for affection. Despite his intentions otherwise, the feeling lingered and festered as he stared. 

Stared. Ondore blinked, realizing that Ghis had grown more than a little uneasy under the prolonged look the Marquis had been giving him. 

“Forgive me I...I lost my train of thought.” Ondore said quietly. The lack of hostility in his voice caused Ghis to relax, shoulders loosening as he eased himself back down against the pillows. Ondore steeled himself and continued. “If...the need were dire, your Honor, and there were no other choice, I would be comforted to know that the Empire's arms were open to receive me.”

The faintest of smiles moved across Ghis' face, a genuine expression of fondness towards the other man. Ondore found it utterly bizarre. Smiling in earnest didn't suit the Magister in the slightest. He felt a small flutter in his chest and then the awful clutch of shame. He'd gladly carry affection towards any other man but this one, yet sincerity had always found its way to his sympathetic side faster than looks or wit. He decided that moment he would indulge in it, just for today. This opportunity would never happen again, he knew. Soon the time would come to discard his mask and take up the helm of the Rebellion.

Ondore turned and leaned forward, placing his hands on Ghis' chest. The Magister had a wide eyed expression, hands staying by his sides as he let Ondore act as he pleased. He could sense that Ghis was uneasy, and it wasn't too hard to figure out why. It seemed they both knew that time was quickly going to bring an end to what they had. Ondore looked to the future of no longer having to entertain the Magister with hope and relief; but he knew it would be a lie to say that he wouldn't miss this. 

The sun had only begun to set, soft light filling the room as the two drew closer together. Ghis yielded to him without question, encouraging Ondore to take control. 

“On your hands and knees.” The Marquis said quietly.

Ghis obeyed, staying still while Ondore prepared himself with a small vial of oil. 

A sliver of guilt struck him suddenly, for stringing the other man along to believe that his own genuine affections were somehow returned. Ondore knew he could never hold anything more than tolerance for the other, let alone any Archadian who'd had a hand in the subjugation of Dalmasca or Bhujerba's plight. They were all guilty of loyalty to their homeland. It would have been a convenient lie to pretend he could simply push aside all that had happened and truly indulge in Ghis' company. Despite that, the illusion of a true companion seemed much easier to fix on that afternoon, and he made the decision to enjoy the lie.

Ghis flinched at the cold oil on Ondore's finger as it slid into him, entire body jerking lightly in surprise. Ondore glanced down at Ghis' lowered head, then slid his gaze down to the back of the Magister's neck, to the space between his jutting shoulder blades. Inserting another finger, Ondore began to easily slide them in and out, pausing now and then to spread them inside of the other. By now he had expected an annoyed grunt or look of complaint at his slow, methodical process – yet neither occurred.

He removed his fingers, scooting closer until he was nearly up against the back of Ghis' thighs. Carefully positioning himself, Ondore let out a long, quiet breath as he inserted himself into the other slowly. Ghis let out a small exhale of his own, tensing at first as he always did, then quickly relaxing. Placing his hands on Ghis' back, Ondore eased his weight against the other man, sparing himself the risk of a painful leg cramp. 

Neither of them felt the need to rush – Ondore pressed in and out of Ghis at a relaxed, slow pace. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on savoring the tightness and heat that the other provided; the warm air in the room that smelled of sandalwood and leather, the small wisps of air from Ghis' lips as he rocked his hips to meet Ondore's lazy thrusts. This continued on for some time until Ondore felt the blossoming heat run down his legs, urging him to go faster. 

He avoided quickening the pace too fast, slowing down accordingly to prevent the need from growing out of control. His occasional pauses or slowing would draw out small noises of protest from Ghis, who bent his back to try and keep Ondore deep inside of him. The Marquis brought his hands down, holding Ghis' hips firmly in place to prevent him from squirming about too much. Keeping Ghis still was a struggle, and it was clear that the Magister was beginning to grow restless.

Ondore ran his fingers in wide circles along Ghis' hip bones, tightening his grip down and thrusting faster. He set his breathing at a rhythm now as the effort grew strenuous,, practically bent over top of the other man. As his thrusts grew harder and rougher, he pressed more and more of his body weight on the Magister's back. It took a moment to notice, but after a few of these new, quick pushes, Ghis had begun to sink down to his elbows. 

The Marquis felt a sudden urge to roll his eyes, but he couldn't fault the other man too much. He'd spent the majority of the day in full armor. It was wrong to expect he bear the Marquis with such good posture as well. Ghis began to push himself back up, Ondore rising along with him. Although the urge to reassure the man that it wasn't necessary to meet his every want in bed did strike him, the Marquis ignored it. Seeing the Magister struggle and sweat beneath him was a rare pleasure he wouldn't be given again.

Straightening his back, Ondore grasped the sides of Ghis' torso, steadying himself as he jerked his hips forward roughly. He heard the other man give a small, weak moan. Ghis bit his lip to try and silence himself, bringing his head further down, pressing his brow to the pillow. Angling himself afterwards, Ondore felt Ghis begin to tense and shudder with each new thrust. The Magister brought a hand up to his mouth, quieting a small cry that had forced its way out.

Ondore closed his eyes, sighing, and pulled Ghis up to kneel. He brought the other close against him, Ghis' back against his chest. Wrapping one arm around the man to steady him, Ondore snaked the other along his side to rest on Ghis' stomach, then resumed. Resting his cheek against the other man's shoulder, he inhaled the unique scent of his skin and sweat, trying to commit them to memory. He brought his lips to the side of Ghis' neck, the other man craning his head to the side, exposing more of the pale flesh for Ondore to nip at. Ghis brought his hand up to his mouth again, but Ondore stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand back down.

“It's alright,” Ondore whispered against his skin, “You would do me no shame.”

Ghis' head fell back to rest on Ondore's shoulder, back bent rigidly against the others body. Feeling the Magister begin to lightly buck his hips, Ondore knew that Ghis wouldn't hold out much longer. He wrapped his fingers down around the pulsing length of warm flesh, not bothering to start off slow. Ondore's quick strokes caused Ghis' hips to jerk forward, a whimper accompanying them. Feeling the Magister tremble beneath his grip, Ondore bit back a sound of his own, groaning softly as he came. He latched on to Ghis' hip and kept the other still, his final quick, desperate thrusts only lasting a few seconds until he was spent. A small wave of lightheadedness followed, Ghis' voice sounding distant as he finally allowed himself a single, choked cry, going rigid against Ondore. 

As the small bit of dizziness faded, Ondore felt himself going down, reaching the covers gently with Ghis still beneath him. The two lay there for several minutes, breath slowing until it was steady and calm once more. Ondore eventually found the will to sit up, carefully pulling out of the other and easing himself back down beside him. 

Ghis turned to face him, still flush with effort. “Forgive me.” He said quietly, “I pray my lapse didn't disturb you.”

Ondore shook his head, resting back against a pillow. “You've no fault to apologize for, your Honor. Perhaps it was uncouth of me to demand your prolonged silence – the misdeed was my own.”

The Magister's tranquil expression grew even softer, but it didn't last. He closed his eyes, sighing and sitting up, excusing himself quietly. Ghis slid off of the bed, walking across the room to the bath chamber and closing the door behind him.

Deciding to stay where he was, Ondore simply watched the slow crawl of the minute hand on the clock, nearly dozing off. Ghis emerged some fifteen minutes later, hair plastered down from the water, a thin towel around his waist. Seeing Ghis begin to gather his leathers, Ondore figured that was cue for him as well. Once he was fully dressed, he looked back over at Ghis, the Magister pulling the first layer of many back on. Before the pale red leathers were simple cloth breeches, some padding in joints and his inner thigh to prevent chafing and pinching, followed by a thin, black body glove. Small, delicate armor was already sewn on to the fingers and hand, every piece and layer made to cooperate with the rest of the suit – leaving no room for improvising with some other piece of equipment. He pulled the pale red leathers on next, the thick material covering his arms and upper torso, but ending just below his rib cage. Ghis paused, struggling to buckle a clasp that sat between his shoulder blades, holding the rigid leather harness around his upper body.

“Allow me.” Ondore said quietly, walking up behind him. Ghis lowered his arms, letting the Marquis take the strap of leather through the bronze buckle to lock it in place.

“I have an aid for this, normally.” Ghis said, turning his head to see Ondore in the corner of his eye, “In my haste I dismissed him back to the detachment to prepare for our departure. Would it be possible to call one of your guards to assist me, Excellency?”

“You needn't call a guard. I can buckle a few straps.”

“It's far beneath you.”

“Hush.”

Ghis obeyed, flexing his arms forward, the leather stretching with effort but holding stiff and firm. He bent down, taking the carefully folded tunic with voluminous sleeves and pulling it on. He turned to Ondore and offered his arms out, the Marquis carefully tying down small strings that kept the ends of the sleeves in place whilst the larger portion overlapped and hung down. After that was a black brace around his back, covered up with a heavy red sash. 

The rest of the armor required Ghis to hold against himself while Ondore cinched and strapped everything into place. A heavy waistband followed by yet another sash, then thick padded armor down his legs. The Magister shoo'd Ondore away from helping him fit on his greaves and sabatons, insisting he do no bending down. Once those were on, Ghis turned and gathered the last piece of the intricate construct that was the full suit. Unfolding the cape, he bent his arms back to get the heavy fabric behind him, bringing the two cords to the front of his plackart. 

Standing before him, Ondore took the cords, carefully tying them together in the neat bow he'd seen before. Ghis watched him, an affectionate smile on his face causing small lines to crinkle his skin. Ondore finished the bow, backing away and looking at the armored Magister.

“It's a wonder you can walk at all.” He remarked. 

Ghis chuckled, turning and taking the helmet off of the rack. “My countrymen bear more steel weight than I do, Drace most of all. Of course, the other Magisters have youth or martial exercise on their side. My days are spent at desks, not the battlefield. I've grown accustomed to it over the decades, but stairs are growing more difficult.”

Ondore rested both hands on his cane, giving a small nod. “Ah, stairs. They hold victory over us all in our old age, it seems.”

Sighing, Ghis nodded once in agreement. “War is a game for young men. The rest of us are shuttled back to our desks and given baubles of ceremony to cling to former glory.” His expression turned dark, “It has become humiliating, looking back upon who I used to be. Vayne has his leash about my neck and his hands over my ears. I'm blind and deaf to the purpose of these errands he sets me upon. Sometimes I wonder if this is how my career is to be remembered, as Vayne's errand boy. I resent him. I serve the might and law of the Empire, not a fratricidal prince.”

The Marquis found himself struck with surprise at the Magister's candidness. He watched as Ghis scowled and looked down, shame written over his face. Ondore shook his head, approaching the man and resting a hand on his chest plate. 

“Your anger is not misplaced, but I would beg you consider patience.” He said quietly, “As you have said yourself, Archadian politics are fickle. Lord Vayne may find himself at a position of power now, but I would advise endurance, his good fortune can only last so long. No doubt he has made enemies within the halls of Archades itself?”

“Many.” Ghis responded, bringing his hand up and placing it over Ondore's. He lowered his head to the other. “I will consider your advice, Excellency, thank you.”

Ondore gave a curt nod and pulled his hand out from beneath Ghis'. “You had best depart, I would not want your guard to grow suspicious at tardiness.”

The Magister nodded, pulling his helmet on, straightening it, and walking to the door. He glanced back at Ondore, lingering on him for a moment, then exited. Ondore waited several minutes until emerging, walking down the carpeted hallway to the courtyard of the estate. 

Ghis was standing near the steps, looking down at Larsa and the young Lord's new companion. He had his hands on his waist, helmet bobbing up and down as he spoke. Ondore was reminded of Raminas nearly fifteen years ago, speaking to the young Lady Ashe in a similar manner after she'd accidentally broken an antique vase during play. Larsa nodded as Ghis spoke, his hand around the young woman's wrist. Ghis eventually brought his hand up to wave the two off, hurrying them down the steps to the waiting guard. The Magister turned, following them, cape blowing gently in the cool evening air.

Ondore watched them, both hands resting on his cane. His soft expression steadily became hard, and he turned, summoning a guard to his side.

“Once the 8th Fleet is beyond our airspace, have them begin moving the Resistance fleet out of hiding and head west to the borderlands. Inform them that I shall arrive within the week.”

The Guard bowed and turned, rushing off. In his place came one of the Marquis' aids, eyes bright in the darkness. 

“Excellency, there is a peculiar group who seeks an audience with you. Captain Ronsenberg is among them.”

Ondore turned, eyes widening. He quickly calmed, turning around and walking back to the large double doors.

“Have them brought to my study at once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but things are going back into place now that NaNoWriMo and the holidays are over. After this chapter we're diving headfirst into AU territory. Happy new year!


	8. Chapter 8

Ghis had been so out of practice for that he had forgotten just how long, and how deep, the hurt from sword and hammer blows could last. His plackart - his most favored piece of armor, had taken the brunt of damage in his stead and bore the dents to show it. Thankfully the whole set had been sent down to the lower levels of the Leviathan for repairs, and would be finished in less than a week. 

That left him now in the infirmary. He had been grudgingly dressed in the stiff white tunic and pants given to overnight patients. A Judge's station awarded him a private room, and Ghis was grateful he didn't have to face the soldiers who had survived their own encounters that day. The sting of shame and embarrassment weighed on him, but there was friendly counsel in sight for how he felt.

Opening his eyes, he looked around the small, well lit room. Tinctures of medicine and all other manner of remedies and potions sat on shelves from the wall, set in neat, organized lines. A small banner with the Archadian seal hung over the bed, and a tall window sat adjacent to it, allowing sunlight to pour in and illuminate the room in lieu of harsh artificial lighting. Ghis shut his eyes at the bright morning light bouncing off of the white walls, grimacing and bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. 

Slowly sitting up, he cringed at the sudden, sharp pains that shot up through his torso and chest. Heavy bandages were around his stomach and rib cage, hiding a collection of multicolored bruises that he'd yet to lay eyes on. A distinct memory suddenly struck him – the street girl Larsa had picked up – lunging at him with a dagger. She had been alongside a Dalmascan boy who had landed several clumsy blows with a sword. If Larsa had been of his own blood he would've recieved a proper beating for his part in all of this mess.

But he wasn't, Ghis reminded himself bitterly, the whelp would find himself safe beneath the wings of his brother. Free from any fault or wrongdoing that had inadvertently resulted in the humiliating position Ghis found himself in now. A thought came to his mind, from the street girl, to the bauble she'd held in her hand. He knew he'd seen it before in Archades. Ghis couldn't pinpoint it exactly but it must have come from the labs. 

A deepening frown drew over his face and he looked down at his arms, a heavy bandage of his left wrist where a precision blow had been struck. He curled his fingers, a low hum filling the room as the air around him began to glow. Without the tined fan to help him guide the magic along and create a path for it to bend and swell, it simply crackled and sparked to life like a brush fire. Along the ceiling, casting the room in a deep red glow, the swirling mist coalesced into a powerful spell that charged overhead. 

“Your Honor?”

The wary voice drew his attention, Ghis turning to face the nurse that had opened the door. She remained in the safety of the doorway, staring up at the spell with a touch of fear. Ghis relaxed his hand and the spell faded as quickly as it had formed, turning into a harmless breeze. 

“What is it?” 

“Sir,” She approached, offering him a clipboard with several papers latched down to it, “The report from reconnaissance.”

Ghis took the clipboard, scanning over it quickly, then handed it back. “Relay this to helm control, begin turning the fleet to the Jagd Yensa at once, and inform Archades.”

The nurse bowed her head, quickly turning and walking out of the room, the doors shutting behind her.

~

“Captain Azelas, take them to Shiva. They should have leave to return to Rabanastre soon.”

Ghis admired the Dawn Shard, then turned, watching the group saunter off. He made a mental note that the girl still had that piece of manufacted nethicite that he was convinced had spelled his defeat in the previous battle. Even a few yards away he could feel its tug, the stone pulling on the deep well of magic he possessed. He was glad to be rid of its presence, a far greater valuable prize was in his hands now.

The Dawn Shard reflected thousands of brilliant, multicolored facets back at him as he held it up to the light. The Gods had forged the relic eons ago for the Dynast King, and he held it now in his very palm. He felt the urge suddenly - to finally be free of his leash, to strike back at the hand that had kept him docile for so long. A vision of freedom was close at hand, the Gods had to have given this to him for a reason. 

Slowly though, the high passed, and his eyes remained locked on the stone. His thoughts turned to what would inevitably happen afterwards. Rozarria would still be hounding at the door, the Senate would still be squabbling. He knew enough about Archadian history to know that a coup could only occur one of two ways – drenched in blood or buried by bureaucracy. The 8th fleet was at his command, yet how many of the men under him would sway to his side? After his defeat, he'd lost more than his reputation, but his dignity as well.

But what was dignity to him now at this point? He had never been a warrior – the majority of his training had always been in navigating politics, not battlefields. Bergan would catch wind of the entire ordeal and never let him hear the end of it, prattling on about the Magistrate position truly belonging to the martially capable. Ghis rolled his eyes, practically hearing the blond go on and on about military rule. Zargabaath would stand off and listen and let it all in one ear and out the other, always playing it safe. Still despite it all, he felt a sudden pining to return to the halls of the royal palace, and the silent office he'd been awarded. Those days never ended with a warhammer to his sternum.

Ondore came to his mind as well, urging patience. Vayne had earned himself a plethora of enemies, the Senate among them. It really was only a matter of time, Ghis figured, and Ondore's words made bearing the leash a little easier.

He turned, offering the stone over to a waiting technician.

“Return it to Archades at once. Tell them to begin testing immediately.”

The young man took the stone, looking back up at Ghis. “Dr.Cid is still in Rabanastre, your Honor. He is usually present for activities involving nethi-”

Ghis snorted, waving off the notion. “Then he should have considered his itinerary more carefully.”

The technician turned, walking away with the Dawn Shard, leaving Ghis to stare at his back as he left. His chance would come again. Vayne couldn't keep walking along the razor's edge without slipping off. When he did, Ghis told himself, he would be right there to help him down.

Silence resumed over the bridge, Ghis allowing himself to enjoy the fresh air before the helmet would have to inevitably return. The crew was well aware of his face, during funerals for fallen countrymen or promotion ceremonies it was required for it to be removed. Still, he felt himself grow flush with embarrassment recalling how a dim witted surprise had passed over the young street-girl's face upon seeing his own revealed. He was no doubt as old as her father, if a churl like her even had one.

A half hour passed, reports being brought to him, along with notice that the Dawn Shard was on its way to Archades at utmost haste. An aid brought a stack of clipboards for him to sign off on, holding each one out for him while he scribbled his name across them. The crew fell back into the drudgery of minute coarse adjustments and weather reports, Ghis staring off into space as his aid carried the stack of papers off.

“Sir!”

Ghis snapped out of his thoughts and turned, walking over to one of the bridge controllers. “What is it?”

“It's the prisoners, your Honor. The Princess Ashe has sent demands that Captain Azelas remain with the 8th fleet before she depart to Rabanastre.”

“Making demands already and she's yet to be reinstated. I'll see to this matter, and throw her off the side over the royal palace if I have to. I want them off of my ship!” Ghis barked, pulling his helmet on as he stormed out of the bridge.

~

Ondore scanned the bridge of the Garland, walking over to the ornate chair that sat in the center of the bridge. He slowly lowered himself down into it, staring at the command consoles and spacious viewing window. Outside it was well past midnight, unfamiliar stars dotting across the sky of the far western borderlands. The time to act would soon be upon them, Ondore felt, but it was merely a matter of waiting for the right opportunity. With Ghis away from Bhujerba, he felt the invisible walls that had kept him from fully investing in the Resistance fall away. Still, Vayne loomed over them all like a dark falcon, eager to snatch up easy prey. 

“Excellency,” A guard entered the bridge, holding an envelope. Ondore looked over, taking it and unfolding the parchment. His eyes widened and he stood up, rereading the short note several times.

“Sir?” The guard ventured quietly after a few seconds.

Ondore glanced over to him, clearing his throat and folding the letter back up. He slid it into his coat, settling his can beneath both hands calmly.

“The Lady Ashe has reclaimed her throne, but under the continued scrutiny of Archades. She seeks my council on this matter.” 

“Shall I take a letter, your Excellency?”

Ondore was silent for a while, turning away and considering the options presented to him. He finally shook his head, looking back at the guard, noting his surprise.

“The Lady Ashe is simply another tool of the Empire now.” Ondore said regretfully, “No doubt too, word of her survival is spreading among the resistance factions. I doubt my presence will be much welcome in the days to come, if they realize how far I have bent to Vayne's suggestions. I fear as well, Archades will use the Lady Ashe as a shield if they begin to sense a growing threat.”

“Would they truly commit such an act, Marquis?”

“The majority of the lot.” He sighed, turning back towards the guard once more, “But it will not work. The Lady Ashe agreed to reclaim her throne, thus agreeing to be a puppet of Archades. It is a most unfortunate position she is placed in, however – as leaders, we are bound to our responsibilities. We cannot cut the strings that now hold the Lady Ashe in place, but we can slice off the hand that holds them.”

“Wise words your Excellency, but we stand no chance against the Archadian fleet as it is now.”

“I'm fully aware.” Ondore tapped his finger on the capital of his cane, sighing. “Send men to the Rozarrian border, see if any mercenaries can be bought. I'd wager they jump at the chance to strike at the Empire with us. But take caution that word does not reach the War Pavilions. I will not have two beasts of war trample us beneath their feet as Dalmasca was.”

The guard bowed, turning and walking to the door. Watching him go, the Marquis felt the burden Archades had placed on him grow even harder to bear, like a noose tightening around his neck. He could only hope that the floor wouldn't disappear beneath his feet before the chance arrived for him to loosen it. 

The rest of the day was spent going over reports and numbers of their growing fleet and manpower. A sizable portion had come straight from Bhujerba's own military, and more were following. It set Ondore's mind somewhat more at ease to think perhaps, they stood an inkling of a chance. Still, with the Leviathan's bloated form sitting in the clouds, swollen with more ammunition and troops than a third of the Resistance alone, the obstacles present were daunting. 

With the meetings concluded he returned to his chambers on board the Garland, which he found, for lack of a better word, cramped. He had his own bed and window, but nothing more. Showers and bathing areas were all in a single room down the hall, along with the commissary and meeting rooms. Still, it was cozy in its own way. 

His largest complaint was the bed. It was as hard as a board of wood and the covers weren't able to retain the slightest bit of warmth. A voice nagged at him from the back of his mind – keep up these complaints and you'll be no better than Ghis. That alone was enough to help him into stoic acceptance of his continued discomfort. After an hour of stubborn insomnia, he finally entered an uncomfortable sleep – only to be rudely awoken by a loud series of frantic knocks on his cabin door.

Grimacing, Ondore sat up, rubbing his face.

“Enter!”

One of his aids stepped in, a group of guards gathering in the doorway behind him. Ondore looked at them, brows furrowed, confused.

“What is this now?” He asked slowly, reaching out to take the parchment that was offered to him. The aid activated the small lamp at his nightstand, giving him enough light to read the frantically scrawled note. Ondore once again found himself having to take a few moments to re-read and absorb the knowledge presented.

“...This...cannot be right.” He said after a few seconds, looking up at the aid. The feline shook his head, staring down at the note.

“It has been confirmed, your Excellency. Not only by our allies along the Archadian border, but by Bhujerban tourists, residents and traders. Word reached Dalmasca two hours prior.”

Ondore stared at him, then slowly turned back to the note in his lap. “How much of the city was demolished?”

“Initial reports have said the entirety of Draklor, where the explosion originated from, the Imperial Palace, Tsenoble, and several blocks of the lower neighborhoods including Nilbasse and Molberry.”

“What of their fleets?”

“The 2nd Expeditionary force has been seen making alterations to their course and we believe they are en route to return to the city. The 1st fleet was stationed at Archades at the time of the explosion, we've no news on its whereabouts as the airships were docked for repairs.”

“And the 8th?”

“They were en route to the Phon Coast from Rabanastre, but have made a sudden northward turn, no doubt to return to Archades as well.”

“Then we will never have a better chance.” Ondore said quietly, folding the parchment up in his hands. “Contact our men along the Rozarrian border and tell them of the blow Archades has just dealt itself. If there truly has been a cataclysm of this magnitude, we must take full advantage. The Empire cut its own legs out from beneath it, and we will remove its head. These reigns will be cast aside once and for all.”


	9. Chapter 9

Ghis hadn't felt grateful for his helmet in years. He felt removed, staring down at his body from somewhere else. Skimming through the preliminary reports again and again, there was no doubt about the conclusion he'd arrived at. It was the Dawn Shard. Not only that – it was his haste that had enabled the disastrous results of the test.

Not entirely, a small voice reminded him.

Ghis sighed, lowering the clipboard. It had been a mixture of many errors. Zecht had suffered the same calamity with the Midlight shard. A fine excuse, he thought, to try and avoid feeling the entire weight of the situation at hand.

The waves of anxiety and turmoil came and went, as they no doubt did in all of his troops. He knew at least a quarter of the Judges under his direct command had family or friends in Tsenoble. No doubt the entire crew had some relations by blood or not, in Molberry. Keeping his thoughts on the crew helped to ease the anxiety circling around his own family. Even though they'd married out of a need to dissuade suspicion about their true interests, his wife was a trusted confidant. She'd also bore him a flock of cackling daughters - no easy task. 

He attempted to look on the bright side. At least he wouldn't have to worry about future dowries. 

Ghis' shoulders slumped and he felt sick to the pit of his stomach. 

“Your Honor, the Atomos has arrived.” 

He looked up from his desk, pushing the clipboard aside and standing. The aid opened a set of double doors, stepping aside to allow the Magister passage. Upon reaching the hanging docks, Ghis boarded the waiting transport, and was quickly ferried away.

It was a short trip to the temporary command center that had been established in Trant. A group of Judges and Magi stood guard around a large tent that had been erected. It was lavish within, which Ghis had expected. Even in the face of utter catastrophe, there was always room for a little decadence. It was a comfort to them all, if nothing else, to have a semblance of familiarity. 

Other soldiers had been dispersed out among the city, digging out survivors and helping to relocate the thousands that had been rendered homeless. It was a slow process, made slower still with the entirety of the political system crippled by the loss of their Emperor and Senate. 

Ghis entered the tent, the pair of guards at the entryway saluting as he passed. Drace and Bergan were standing at a large table, an enormous map of Ivalice spread out before them. Small markers on either end indicated Imperial and Rozarrian forces. Hearing his arrival, the two Magisters turned, faces weary and gaunt.

Removing his helmet, Ghis was silent as he joined them at the table.

“Are these confirmed?” He asked after several moments of silence, pointing to the Rozarrian markers.

“They're confirmed as of our latest reconnaissance to the borderlands. Roughly a fortnight ago.” Drace answered. Ghis could hear the utter defeat and exhaustion in her voice. “I have no doubt word has reached Rozarria of this disaster. They will take advantage of this opportunity, there is no question as to that.” 

“When will Lord Vayne be crowned? The sooner executive decisions are being set forth, the sooner we can begin mobilizing the fleets.” Bergan grumbled, staring at the map.

“The ceremony will be tonight, and it will be quick. We've no time to waste on formality.” Drace responded, indifferent. Both Ghis and Bergan knew she would've been appalled at the thought of Vayne being crowned so immediately, but Archades needed an Emperor to give commands without hindrance. With Larsa dead as well, there was no one else to take the role. Ghis knew that the young Lord's death in the tragedy had weighed hardest on Drace, but her pain struck him no different than anyone else. No Archadian was free of suffering, from the lowest peasant to the Magisters themselves.

“What of Zargabaath?” Ghis asked after a few moments, hoping to end the heavy silence that had begun to hang over them.

Bergan brought a hand up to his chin, scratching the stubble that was beginning to grow. “He mourns his brother and sister-in-law. Both were in Tsenoble.”

A sigh slid out of Ghis' mouth and he nodded, crossing his arms. He glanced at Bergan, “And you?”

The other Judge grunted, indifferent. “My son is stationed with the 2nd Kerwon fleet, he returns to Archades in two days. As for the rest of them...” Bergan waved his hand off to the side, shrugging.

Ghis let out an uneasy laugh, glancing at Bergan. The Magister was proud of his only son, but had never spoken well of the rest of his family. From what Ghis understood, Bergan was the black sheep of the great House, the rest of them being scholars and musicians. Bergan didn't share his humor, merely glancing at Ghis, and he at once realized the other man was entirely serious. The chuckle died and Ghis looked away, shifting awkwardly.

“Any word on yours?” Drace asked, looking over at Ghis. The question brought a sudden twist to his stomach and he shook his head, looking over at her.

“Yours?”

“Most are dead,” She mumbled, “My sister wrote to me from the Alexander, said she was safe. She insisted too that the Alexander is in fighting order.”

“She's eager then, to go to war?” Bergan asked, nodding once.

“Eager to fly. She's piloting a Valefor now, I doubt I'll hear the end of it.”

The three reentered the long silence after that, all relieved when Zargabaath pushed the tent flaps open. He paused to remove his helmet, setting it aside and taking a large wooden box filled with folded up parchment and envelopes. 

“Intelligence reports.” Zargabaath said bluntly, some red and wetness along the rims of his eyes. The other Judges ignored it politely, staring at him with apathetic professionalism. “Until a new Magister is elected as head of the 9th Bureau in place of Gabranth, Lord Vayne has elected to grant us the privilege of inspecting what intelligence had been gathered. All of these are documents pertaining to the manufacture and transport of Nethicite, and reports thereafter of suspicions considering espionage or foul play. Lord Vayne does not suspect Rozarrian spies are responsible for this event, however he has made it clear that no suspicion, no matter how small, should be left unchecked. He asks you finish reading through these documents by the end of the day and be at the crowning ceremony upon sundown at Ada Park. That is all.” Zargabaath's tone was clipped and short, the Magister setting the box of reports and letters down on the table and leaving immediately afterwards.

Ghis looked over at Bergan, the taller Magister sighing. “A shame. Still, no doubt his constitution shall return once he deploys.”

“He always spoke well of his brother,” Drace added solemnly, “I recall him mentioning several times that he yearned to be half the man he was.”

“Zargabaath could be a street peddler and already be twice the man.” Bergan snorted, drawing nods of agreement from the other two. He grabbed several envelopes out of the box, walking to a corner of the tent, easing himself down into a heavy chair. 

Drace took an armfull as well, leaving the tent to find a stray chair elsewhere. That only left Ghis, the Magister taking a handful of documents and leaning against the table, opening one and squinting to read in the dim light.

Eyes quickly scanning over the intricate handwriting, he immediately recognized it as Ondore's. Ghis frowned, noting several smaller pieces of parchment were attached to it – marking time frames and recipients. Ghis placed the letter down, turning and looking over at Bergan.

“Why are the Marquis Ondore's letters contained here?” He asked, masking his worry with a cool veneer of mild interest, “Was he under suspicion?”

Bergan laughed, looking up from his parchment. “Swimming in it, old man.” He fished through the reports he had, offering one over to Ghis. “This was Gabranth's full inquiry. Completed perhaps...four nights hence?” He looked at the other Magister strangely as he took the parchment. “Didn't you know?”

Ghis took the report, feeling his face grow hot as he held it close to his eyes to read. A sickening pit began to form in his stomach, chills now battling with his flushing skin. He skimmed through the report quickly, getting enough information within the first two pages to get the gist of what it implied. Sharp pain struck him to his core, and he forced himself to maintain his composure. Carefully handing the report back, Ghis turned, crossing his arms to hide his shaking hands.

Bergan watched him for nearly a minute of complete silence, clearing his throat after he began to get impatient.

“Your Honor?” He ventured, staring at the Magister's back. “Are you well?”

Bergan's voice snapped him out of his stupor, and Ghis stammered, glancing back as he headed for the tent flaps. “Yes – I feel -” He was out of the tent before he could finish, heading past the two guards and staring out at the empty space that was once the proud Tsenoble skyline. 

Ondore's deception, as well as the full shock of such a catastrophic loss struck him all at once. So many things had gone wrong and he only had himself to blame. His home that he and his ancestors had lived in for generations was utterly gone. Every stone and corner and small cafe, every walkway railing he used to lean against to look down on the lower levels. Simply gone. How could a lifetime of memories disappear so easily, so nonchalantly in mere minutes? It was surreal. It was utterly horrifying. 

Ondore's betrayal was just salt in the gaping wound, burning him with shame that, mixed with the shock and grief of Archadia's loss, became too much.

His breathing grew quicker, sweat running down his forehead and neck. Turning, Ghis rushed to a nearby alleyway, disappearing from view.

He hadn't eaten in a day since the explosion, and he was grateful. Whatever came out of his mouth from the sudden retching wasn't much, not enough that anyone would have a mess to clean up. Slowly leaning against the nearest brick wall, Ghis stared down at the ground beneath him. His heart pounded in his ears, face red hot with disbelief. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so blind? Him, of all people – the old snake in the grass – as Bergan had called him more than once. Fooled by a Bhujerban, a merchant...

Someone he thought he could trust.

Ghis winced, shuddering. Something no Archadian did who desired a career in politics was trust. Let alone trust a foreigner. He sent a small prayer to the Gods after a few moments, begging forgiveness for his stupidity and shortsightedness. 

“Your Honor.”

He whipped around, Bergan's familiar silhouette at the end of the alleyway. Ghis breathed in sharply, standing upright. Bergan narrowed his eyes, staring at the other Judge.

“You're ill?” He asked, taking a single step forward and waiting there.

Ghis nodded quickly, placing a hand over his stomach for good measure. “I will be along shortly.” He murmured, leaning back against the wall. 

Bergan frowned, walking over to Ghis and grabbing him by the arm. The other Magister stammered a weak sound of protest as the taller Judge pulled him from the alleyway. Bergan placed his hands on Ghis' shoulders, giving him a single good jerk.

“Your poor behavior is an embarrassment, the lesser ranks needn't see a Magister in such a pitiable state. It is on our shoulders now to protect this land from Rozarria, and soldier through this disaster with dignity. You embarrass your title. Maintain composure, your Honor, and keep your helmet on if you cannot stay poised.” Bergan said sharply, a grimace of disgust across his face.

Bergan's words and tone brought Ghis almost entirely out of his shock. He stood up a bit straighter, brows furrowing and lips pursing.

“You've no right to speak to me with such gall, Bergan.” He snapped in response, however lacking his usual pride. Pulling his helmet back on quickly, Ghis immediately felt at ease. Face hidden, he followed Bergan back towards the tent.

The Magister made it a note to avoid any letters written by the Marquis, stuffing them away and sticking purely to shipment orders and duty rosters of those serving in Draklor. The entire act was pointless, he was more than certain it had been caused by the Dawn Shard. Still, there was no way he would allow even the smallest hint of blame to fall on him, so he went along with the act. He could lie with the best of them, even in his worst state.

Hours passed in dull silence. Ghis marked a few mishaps in the various reports as possible suspicious activity, thankful of the occasional sloppy record-keeper. Bergan's own stack of potentially suspicious activity was sparse, which gave him a small comfort. He knew the report logs that would've noted his orders to begin testing the Dawn Shard wouldn't have been taken from Draklor until the end of the week. They had been blasted to ash along with the facility and palace. With permanent evidence of his partial guilt wiped off of Ivalice for good, all that remained was his conscience. Luckily, he was able to find ways to outmaneuver that as well.

“Your Honor, it would be a fine time to depart.”

Ghis set down the file he'd been rereading for the past hour and stood up straight. The two left the tent without further words; Bergan placing his helmet on carefully once they were outside. An airship was waiting to ferry them to the Ada park - once a middle-class esplanade for enjoying the spring and summer weather. It had been transformed overnight into an expansive camp for organizing troop garrisons. 

Bergan stepped aside to allow Ghis into the airship first, the Magister gathering his cape up so it didn't get caught in the door. Hurried footsteps and clanking armor drew both of their masked gazes, a soldier rushing towards the two.

“Your Honor!” He called, an envelope in his hands. The soldier rushed to Ghis, quickly saluting and bowing, offering him the note.

Ghis took it quickly, dismissing the soldier with a wave of his hand. Bergan leaned to the left, watching Ghis unfold the letter and bring it up to the front of his helmet to read. The Magister dropped his arms to his sides a few seconds later, letting out a breath so sharp that it was audible through his helmet. 

“All accounted for, safe in our summer home. Praise the Gods, my wife writes, our cats survived as well.” Ghis said, folding the letter. Bergan snorted, following the elder Judge into the waiting ship.

~

“Is your Lordship willing to take this Oath?”

Vayne stared ahead, a distant, empty look in his eyes.

“I am.”

Weathered, aged hands slowly lowered the imperial crown over his thick, dark hair. Once it had settled in place, the grand magus stepped back, gathering his heavy robes and moving aside. The elderly man turned to the four Magisters, all of them lined up side by side, helmets removed.

“Do you accept Vayne Carudas Solidor as your Emperor, declared by his blood and the people of Archades, sworn to protect and defend this land?”

The quartet raised their fists to their chests, metal slapping metal as they saluted sharply. “AYE!”

Facing Vayne once more, the grand magus began to lower himself to his knees. “As witnessed here by your peers, joined by pursuit of justice and loyalty to this land, under Galtea's merciful eye, I declare you, Vayne Carudas Solidor, as 12th Emperor of Archadia.”

Ghis and Bergan lowered their heads, followed shortly afterwards by Zargabaath and Drace. The four carefully brought themselves down to their right knee, bowing to Vayne. 

Staring at the four, Vayne didn't bother with show. “You may stand,” He said quietly, “We have much to discuss. The ceremony is over.”

Standing and bowing once more, the grand magus turned and hobbled back towards a pair of waiting escorts. Vayne motioned for the four Magisters to follow him, turning and walking to a large tent a few yards away. He took the crown off before reaching the tent flaps, holding it loosely in his right hand as a guard pulled a flap aside for him.

Once the five had all gathered at the large table, Vayne sat at the head of it, leaning back in the heavy wooden chair. Another map of Ivalice was lain out before them, but the Rozarrian and Archadian markers had been moved, glowing red and blue in the dim light.

All eyes were on Vayne, the man sitting stiff in his chair, back straight and shoulders tense. His gaze was empty and far away, lacking the subtle acuity it once held. After a few moments of heavy silence, Vayne pointed to a group of markers on the map table.

“Two hours ago, reconnaissance scouts returned from the far western borderlands. Reports indicate that the insurgent fleet, spearheaded by Marquis Ondore, has made contact with a Rozarrian ship. Most likely this vessel is an envoy on behalf of the Pavilion.” Vayne droned, staring down at the map. “We believe that they are setting terms for the beginning of an influx of Rozarrian troops into Bhujerban airspace. The very presence of an Envoy ship is an act of war. They have intruded into Archadian territory and more will follow.”

Vayne focused his gaze on all of them, the Magisters' faces set stern and grim. “There is no more pretense. A Rozarrian invasion is upon us. I am deploying the 8th fleet to the far south, where you will be stationed just north of Jahara.”

Dark eyes snapped to meet Ghis', the Magister standing firmly at attention. “Judge Ghis, your fleet will be the first line of defense against any Rozarrian invasion from that region. They most likely will use a southern route with no ability to travel the Jagd. We expect there to be significant ground forces accompanying the Rozarrian fleet, no doubt to set up a secondary supply chain. With that in mind, and to provide additional tactical support, I am stationing Judge Bergan on the Leviathan as well. Divide your responsibilities accordingly. Report to the fleet at once and begin preparations for immediate departure. You are dismissed.”

“Sir!” The two saluted, turning on their heels sharply and walking out of the tent. Vayne watched them go, giving his attention to Drace and Zargabaath afterwards.

“The 2nd Expeditionary force is under your command, Judge Drace. Take the fleet to Mosphoran and await further commands. Begin reconnaissance sweeps upon arrival.”

As the Magister saluted and left, Vayne finally turned his attention to Zargabaath.

“You will await here, with the Alexander and your fleet, to protect Archades herself.”

“As you command, my liege.”

~

“A wretched sight, indeed.” Bergan growled, the two Magisters walking side by side through the enormous air docks. The pair were crossing a long catwalk that lead to the Leviathan. The city-sized ship was covered in a swarm of safety-harnessed workers who were painting new sealant on the hull and running through a gauntlet of pre-flight inspections. 

“Have mercy Bergan, the man lost his father and brother on the same day. Not everyone is as relieved as you to lose their relations.” Ghis drawled, having to walk two steps to keep up with each of Bergan's one.

“Bah!”

“I pray you've no fear of living on the Leviathan for an extended period of time. It may be some months before we set foot on the ground.” 

Bergan snorted, “I've little care for Airships, but I assure you that there will be no issue. The only possible dilemma I can foresee is your lack of experience.”

Ghis stopped in place, Bergan walking a few more paces before halting and turning around.

“You would do well to mind yourself,” Ghis sneered, pointing at the other, “I am a senior Magister, I-”

“Senior only in age, your Honor. How many decades now have you spent at a desk? Indeed it was Judge Zecht's passing that gifted you the Leviathan, not your own prowess on the field of battle.”

“I am fully aware, but what I do not understand, Bergan, is why you choose to bring this up now. We are on the eve of the greatest war of our time and you choose to criticize a fellow Archadian, a Magister no less.”

“I simply balk at the thought of having to defend Archades from the might of Rozarria side by side with an overdressed filing clerk. You've half the tactical experience that Judge Gabranth held with twice the senility. That I am to be saddled with your aging bones, after we've been dealt such a grievous blow, is insulting.”

Ghis scoffed, doing his best to ignore the anger and embarrassment that rose up inside of him. 

“Barbarian.” He muttered, storming past the taller man. 

Bergan watched his back for a while then turned, walking down the catwalk, not bothering to quicken his pace to catch up. There would be time spent struggling to tolerate Ghis' presence soon enough.


	10. Chapter 10

“Not the crowd I anticipated.” 

Ghis gazed out upon the arena of catwalks and railings, a crowd of a few hundred citizens and soldiers having gathered on them. They waved, tossing large bouquets at the Leviathan as it began to rise from its quay. As seconds passed, the vast engines began to glow brighter, their dull hum growing louder. Only the very bow of the massive ship fit into the canopied section of the docks, the rest of it left exposed in the sun. 

The farewell gathering had all situated underneath the roofed section, the rest of the catwalks and retracting bridges left abandoned save for the last wave of inspectors. Once those few stragglers marked the last check on their lists, they signaled a tall control tower at the head of the docking quay. 

“You desire even more fanfare?” Bergan asked, standing side by side with Ghis at the Leviathan's observation deck. Unlike the bridge which consisted of tall control consoles and windows too high to see out of, the observation deck was nearly all glass save for the floor and rear wall.

“I had expected none at all, given recent events.”

Ghis raised his head, squinting through the eye holes of his helmet when he saw the control tower release a series of bright flares. He turned and reached for a console on the wall next to him, pressing a small switch.

“Admiral you have permission to begin formation. Ensure that post-departure inspections are begun once we reach cruising altitude.” Ghis spoke into the receiver.

“Yes, Your Honor.” A grainy voice returned.

Ghis returned to Bergan's side, crossing his arms and watching the vast quay and docks grow smaller and smaller beneath them. Further down the mass of canopied work sections, other ships of the 8th fleet could be seen, rising out of their sheltered docks to follow the Leviathan. 

“I pray you've a proper training deck on this titan.” Bergan uttered, setting his hands on his waist, “I will not tolerate idle standing day in and out.”

“There are many training decks to accommodate you, Bergan. I may command the ship but I certainly have no control over you.” Ghis answered, tilting his head up to glance at Bergan. “Of course I would greatly appreciate if you did not interfere with my administrative duties whilst on the Leviathan.”

Bergan laughed, turning and walking towards the stairs. “You are free to your desk husbandry. Of course, when the real battles begin, pray the rank and file can sustain themselves without a signature or two.”

Ghis rolled his eyes beneath his helmet, moving to the center of the room and watching the entirety of the 8th fleet begin to gather in proper formation. Bergan's steps grew distant, the hiss of the sliding door ensuring to Ghis that the fellow Magister was gone. 

He glanced over to the port side, admiring the Shiva. The Leviathan was his pride and the glory of Archades, but Ghis had to admit it was not the most aesthetically appealing vessel. The Shiva's long lines, glittering interior lights and hanging reliefs from her prow all combined to evoke aerial grace and beauty. Truly out of all of the Archadian fleet, Ghis surmised, she was best fit to sail among the clouds. 

A sneer came to his lips as he turned and walked down the stairs. The rest of the Magisters wouldn't know the value of art if it was a sword in their gut. He'd had faith in Zargabaath once, but after accepting an invitation from the other Magister to attend a play with him, that faith had quickly died. His taste had been, to say the least, pedestrian. Ghis wouldn't make the mistake again to entertain Zargabaath's undeniably juvenile sentiment for romance or comedy on the stage. 

A sudden tug yanked at his chest, and he was reminded of a quick fantasy he'd entertained one day whilst strolling past the opera house. He'd thought that perhaps, if tensions fell away and the insurgency had been dealt with, Ghis would have liked to invite Ondore to attend an Archadian performance. Under the guise of fostering a better relationship with Bhujerba, the visit could have been placed under the excuse of being a friendly cultural exchange.

Of course, considering that Ondore had been funding the insurgency, that not only turned the fantasy impossible but downright painfully naive. Part of him felt like a child, being scolded by the teacher before the rest of the class for entertaining such a stupid notion.

Sickened, Ghis walked faster towards the nearest lift. The war held one singular benefit, he decided – it would do well to distract him from his growing shame. It had been swelling by the hour, but at least his duties forced him back into focusing on the immediate tasks at hand. 

~

Ghis and Bergan spent the rest of the day supervising the transition from grounded operations to those of continual flight. The Leviathan alone was a city unto herself, with hundreds of men and women having to perform tasks both essential and mundane to keep everything in working order. Be it regulating the power output from the enormous glossair rings, assisting the forge masters in the lower decks with armor repairs, or carting tons of bunk sheets to be cleaned and refitted for the barracks – the crew was never lacking in work.

Of course, the chain of command assisted in the management of these hundreds of operations and made them go as smoothly as possible. After an entire days worth of walking from one end of the Leviathan to the other, receiving verification on multiple floors and levels that everything was running at top effeciency, Ghis had Bergan accompany him to his study. 

Removing his helmet once the door behind them shut, Ghis walked over to his desk and set it down on the slick wood finish. He eased himself down into his chair, motioning Bergan to come over with a quick curl of his fingers. The other Magister approached, removing his helmet as well, keeping it under his arm. Ghis sorted through a pile of thick, bound stacks of parchment before arriving at a particularly large one.

“This is the procedural guide for the Leviathan and her crew. I'd have you read through and understand it before we begin trading blows with a Rozarrian invasion force.” 

Bergan took the bound stack, flipping through it and scoffing. “You think me some greenhorn?”

“You've no experience with the 8th fleet, that is simply my concern. The crews and officers are unfamiliar with your style of leadership – despite that, I place my faith in your abilities. Do not allow this to go to your head, your Honor, but you are charged with incursion operations and oversight, are you not? I'm not questioning your knowledge of tactics or battlefield engagements. This guide is simply in regards to matters of logistics and procedure.”

“I comprehend your meaning, your Honor, ” Bergan tucked the bound parchments under his arm, “Have you anything else?” 

“Your quarters are on level 23, room 807B. To access that part of the ship you need to take the blue lift route, it serves levels 20 through 50. That is all.”

Bergan grunted, taking his helmet and turning away, walking out of the office. Ghis glanced up as he went, frowning at the others back and sighing tiredly. Bergan's presence was the last thing he wanted – the other Magister was a brute, always eager to rush into battle. Still, he begrudgingly reminded himself, Bergan had far more battlefield experience, and his presence had somehow made Ghis feel secure. Secure now at least not only in strength and utter firepower, but in tactical choices as well. 

As much as he hated to admit it, and would never say so aloud – Ghis knew that no tactician was worth his steel if he wasn't well seasoned in the battlefield. 

~

Ondore felt a small surge of pain run up his leg as he hurried along down the long hallway of the Garland. His aids waited for him at the end of the carpeted tunnel, standing by a set of double doors intricately carved from rich, dark wood. 

“Has he arrived?” The Marquis asked in a quick whisper. One of the aids nodded, jerking his nose towards the doors. 

Clearing his throat, Ondore fixed his cravat and long coat, tidying his appearance before straightening his back and taking a moment to calm himself. At his command, the aids opened the doors, and he stepped into the meeting room with a trained air of nonchalance, in sharp contrast to his quick steps just moments before.

Seated at the round meeting table was a tall Rozarrian, rich olive skin and curly black hair setting him apart. He stood when Ondore entered, formally bowing to the Marquis before easing himself back into his chair.

Ondore gave a small nod in return, slowly taking a seat, resting his hands on the capital of his cane. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Ambassador Deirn, thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I know with the recent events in Archades, that it must have been difficult to secure a day to spare.”

“I assure you Marquis,” Deirn responded with his heavy Rozarrian accent dripping from each word, “Meeting with you has been a fervent desire of mine for some time now. I must too confess, I'm terribly impressed by what you've accomplished, considering your limited resources and inexperience. It's a credit to Bhujerban tenacity and wit.”

Ondore forced a polite smile and nod of his head, “Thank you, Ambassador. Now, shall we begin discussion of terms?”

Deirn nodded, clearing his throat. “Indeed. As it stands, our 3rd fleet is advancing eastward with utmost speed to outrun the 8th Archadian fleet that, according to the latest intelligence reports, departed three days ago and is on a course for northern Jahara. No doubt this is in response to our meeting here. Your well hidden betrayal is no longer such, and this brings you to a decision, Marquis. Allowing Rozarrian ships into your airspace is a step that will ensure the safety of Bhujerba, so I implore you to take this into consideration.”

“Make no mistake, Ambassador,” Ondore responded quietly, “I am well aware of the situation that this has placed me in. That being said,” his voice darkened, “Have I not proven myself in this theater? I wish for nothing greater than the fall of the Archadian Empire and their hold on my people and assets. If harboring Rozarrian troops in Bhujerba will help that come to pass, then I will, of course allow it.”

Deirn nodded, satisfied. “That is excellent news, Marquis. News that I am relieved to hear. Placing our troops directly south of Archades will give us a strategic advantage. With our 3rd fleet behind the 8th, and the 4th settling in to meet them at the border, we will have this fish in our pincers. It will be a strong start, one that we will need. Of course, to make this advancement into your territories official, I will have to send for several documents to be signed and such, but with your verbal permission I will send word for our 3rd fleet to begin advancement.”

“But, Ambassador, if I may be so bold as to ask, what of the 8th fleet? They head straight for northern Jahara as you say, will your fleet not encounter them before they reach Bhujerba?”

Deirn shook his head, “Unlikely, Marquis. We have had our forces ready to mobilize for some time now, and the 8th fleet, while massive, is like a whale brought to land, bloated and slow. The Leviathan's girth is too great for the skies, it is too slow. Our ships may not match Archadian ships in size, but they more than make up for it in speed. We will reach Bhujerba in two days at the most, and I will have to present you with official documents to legalize all of this.” A weak smile moved to the Ambassador's lips, “Of course in war, paperwork is often an afterthought, you understand. Still, we will adhere to procedure while we're still able to afford such niceties.”

“I do understand, Ambassador. Before you depart, may I ask – can the Bhujerban fleet be of any assistance? We have several formidable airships that were poised to begin engaging Archadian forces. We would be honored to-”

Deirn cut Ondore off with a small raise of his hand, a polite smile forming on his face. “Marquis the offer is generous, but I insist, with the utmost respect, that you keep your people out of this.”

The affronted look that formed on Ondore's face encouraged Deirn to continue speaking, “As you said, you have proven yourself – in the theater of politics, intrigue, and deception. I commend you on your integrity in the face of Archadian brutality, Marquis. However,” Deirn's tone grew gentle, and Ondore suddenly felt that the Ambassador thought he were talking to a child. “This is a theater of war. War that we have been long planning for, your grace. It is not a war we can afford to have any obstruction in, be it from our enemies, or our allies. Please understand, it's not that we consider your forces inadequate, but the Rozarrian army has been preparing for this moment for years. Your Bhujerban forces may believe they are trained to withstand the Archadians at their war games, however; with the greatest respect due to you and your people, Marquis Ondore, they are not.”

Deirn stood, straightening the long black coat he wore, lavender ruffling spilling out of his sleeves, concealing his hands. He nodded at Ondore, no hint of apology for the reaming he'd just lain down. 

“I will see you again in two days time, your grace.” He said, bowing shortly before walking out of the room, the click of his boots on the wooden floor echoing down the hall.

Ondore sat at the table, a flush of embarrassment on his face. The unapologetic cleave of Rozarrian honesty was in perfect opposition to clouded Archadian intrigue. So much so that he'd been entirely unprepared for it.

After a few moments of talking himself out of feeling humilated by the affair, he stood, gathering his dignity. If the Rozarrians didn't want his aid, then it left the small resistance fleet free to be used as an emergency measure if the war reached too close to Bhujerba. With the Rozarrians taking full reign in the war against Archades, it left the Marquis to focus his concerns on the safety of his people. He wouldn't deny it to himself – he had been hoping his fleet would be involved in some way against the Archadian beast and garner some small victories, but it was not to be. 

Nodding at his aids as he exited the room, he sighed, placing his cane in one hand, tapping the capital lightly with the other.

“Once the Ambassador has departed, set course back for Bhujerba, and call in the district overseers for conference. We will be hosting Rozarrian forces in the near future, our citizens must be prepared to tolerate their presence.”

“Understood.” 

With the two aids in tow, he began walking back down to his chambers at an easy pace and stride. Ondore felt his step lighten, as if a great weight had been shed from his shoulders. It was the weight of waging a war against Archades on his own. Now it was Rozarria charging ahead to usher in a new age for Ivalice, and with every moment passing he was increasingly glad it was them and not himself.


End file.
